


Of Hobbits and Majesty

by bzp (orphan_account)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Apologies, BAMF!Bilbo, Bilbo is a sassy little hobbit, Bofur is just adorable, I have no say in the matter, Kili is not majestic at all, M/M, Maybe a happy ending? I'LL NEVER TELL, Nevermind he'll still get lost somehow, Ori has a teddy bear, Ori is adorable too, Regret, Some fluff too, Someone should give Thorin a compass, These characters write themselves, Thorin does not know how to express himself, Thorin is so majestic, Thorin sucks at all forms of courting, Why am I writing tags at 1 AM?, brooding Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:10:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 20,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/bzp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin had his throne, his nephews, and wealth beyond belief.  He had done honourably by his people, and had even made peace, as uneasy as it still was, with the elves.  Yet, there Thorin sat, his mouth a thin line, his cold glare steady and unwavering, on the day he should be celebrating his victories.  What no one knew, however, was that one year ago that day, Thorin lost something more dear to him than anything in Middle Earth.  Exactly one year ago that day, Bilbo Baggins, a simple hobbit from the Shire, left Erebor with Thorin’s heart.</p>
<p>______________________________________________________________</p>
<p>ON HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Majestic Brooding

**Author's Note:**

> So, hopefully, this will be updated weekly, unless life gets in the way of all my fun :D It's my first fanfic, so please, don't kill me. Also, just a quick note, NOBODY DIED AT THE BATTLE OF FIVE ARMIES. I intend this to be a pretty long fic, going through the whole adventure and beyond that.

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, was brooding. This wasn’t surprising, of course, at least not to anyone who knew the dwarf king well enough. Thorin, they would tell you, spent the vast majority of his time brooding, to the point where many just assumed he must find it enjoyable. No, the problem wasn’t that Thorin was brooding – it was the intensity with which he brooded. Sitting on his throne, with his chin resting on one white-knuckled fist, the dwarf king radiated anger, glaring murderously ahead with sky blue eyes. His eyes, however, focused on no one. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop a young servant from shaking so hard that he dropped a pitcher of water, nor did it stop the dwarf king’s nephew, Kili, from slipping on the spilled water and falling ungracefully onto his bottom with a loud cry. Shaking his head at his younger brother, Thorin’s eldest nephew, Fili, strode into the room, opened his mouth to address his uncle, and then quickly shut it. He knew that look. He had seen it on his uncle’s face too many times. It was the same look Thorin had worn on his face for years after Smaug had stolen the Lonely Mountain, after Thorin had lost both his father and grandfather to Azog the Defiler and his army. It was a look filled with anger and rage, but beyond that, filled with sadness, regret, and unimaginable pain. Fili hadn’t seen that look on his uncle’s face in at least a year, ever since they took back the Lonely Mountain, and he couldn’t understand why his uncle wore such a somber expression now. It was the one year anniversary of the Battle of Five Armies, and Thorin had everything he could have ever wanted. Erebor was in the process of being rebuilt, the streets already shuffling with activity and life. Thorin had his throne, his nephews, and wealth beyond belief. He had done honourably by his people, and had even made peace, as uneasy as it still was, with the elves. Yet, there Thorin sat, his mouth a thin line, his cold glare steady and unwavering, on the day he should be celebrating his victories. What Fili didn’t know, however, was that one year ago that day, Thorin lost something more dear to him than anything in Middle Earth. Exactly one year ago that day, Bilbo Baggins, a simple hobbit from the Shire, left Erebor with Thorin’s heart.

Letting out a deep sigh, Thorin thought back to the first day he had met the hobbit. 

He had been on his way to meet his company, the 12 dwarfs who answered his call when he decided to journey back to the Lonely Mountain to take back what rightfully belong to him – or to them, he should say. Gandalf the Grey, a wizard who had promised to assist Thorin on his journey, had planned the place of the meeting. It was to take place in a hobbit hole in the Shire, where Gandalf stated he had found the final member of Thorin’s company. Thorin could barely contain his contempt of the idea of a hobbit on his journey. Hobbits were gentlefolk, and had no business with the strong, hardy dwarfs. He could hardly see how some hairy-footed, little pansy from the lush flower gardens of the Shire would be of any help. He was so lost in his thoughts of dwarven superiority that he almost stepped on the flower garden of one of the small hobbit holes. Looking up at the hobbit hole, he noted the bright blue door and realized that it looked strangely familiar. He could almost swear he had seen it before. In fact, looking to the next hobbit hole, he remembered seeing those strange yellow flowers before. It was at that moment Thorin Oakenshield realized he had been walking in circles.

Cursing silently to himself, he started walking again, this time paying close attention to the hobbit holes as he passed them, looking for the mark Gandalf said he had left on the door of the meeting place. He wandered around the Shire for over an hour, checking every door, before he finally saw it – the bright blue door, that is. He was right back where he started. He was just about to curse that damn wizard when he heard the distant sound of laughter. Following the noise, he weaved between the gardens and over the rolling hills of the Shire, until he stood in front of a green door. Sure enough, there was the mark. Looking through the small window of the hobbit hole, he was relieved to see a large gathering of dwarves, laughing and joking away. That is, until he saw his nephew, Kili, laughing so hard that he dropped a full cup of mead onto his own lap. Shaking his head, Thorin silently thanked his sister, Dis, for having Fili before Kili. As much as he loved the boy, he had no clue how to train someone with such a lack of majesty to be his heir. At least Fili could manage to drink without making an utter disaster. He watched the dwarfs inside for a few minutes before, adjusting his cloak, he knocked on the door. The laughing within stopped immediately, pleasing Thorin to no end. That’s the effect of majesty, he said to himself, as the door opened. The first person he laid eyes upon was Gandalf.

“Gandalf,” he said, granting the wizard a rare smile. “I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice.” He immediately regretted his words, realizing that he was the dwarf leading the adventure, and yet, was the only one to get lost. “Wouldn’t have found it at all, if it hadn’t been for that mark on the door,” he said, taking off his cloak and turning around to smile at Kili, who, he noticed, still hadn’t grown a proper beard. It was at that point he noticed the hobbit, who was going on about there not being a mark on his door. Gandalf introduced the hobbit as Bilbo Baggins, and Thorin took a good long look at him. 

“So,” Thorin said, “this is the hobbit.”


	2. Meeting the Hobbit

Thorin had never really seen a hobbit up close before, and thus, was a little taken back by the small creature in front of him. The hobbit, or Bilbo Baggins, as Gandalf had introduced him, was quite a sight to behold. Soft, coppery locks framed a small round face, the features of which were currently distorted into an exasperated grimace. Bilbo was shorter than Thorin by at least a foot, and was looking up at the dwarf king with his hands on his hips, his legs slightly splayed. However, it was none of these features that invoked the ire of Thorin, nor was it Bilbo’s large, hairy feet (although they did warrant a second, and even a third, glance from the stunned dwarf). Rather, it was Bilbo’s pointed ears, the tips of which were currently turning bright red, that made Thorin’s back snap straight and his features contort into a dark frown. It was bad enough that he had to have a hobbit on his journey in the first place, but to be reminded of – ugh, elves, every time he looked at the small creature was unacceptable. 

He thought back to the fateful day Smaug came to Erebor, and recalled the Elvenking Thranduil looking down from a nearby cliff on the devastated dwarfs. Thorin had yelled for help, and the golden haired hussy had ignored him, simply turning his head away and riding off on his blasted elk – seriously, who rides an elk? – with his army following closely behind.

Thorin cursed under his breath at the thought, before realizing that he was still staring intently at the poor hobbit, whose face had also turned a bright shade of red. Regaining his composure, he glared down at Bilbo, before circling behind him and asking, mockingly, if the hobbit knew how to fight. He knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to watch the Halfling sweat, wanted to show his companions just how wrong this gentle little creature was for the dangerous journey ahead. Bilbo had started to stutter out an answer, but before he could even form a single word, Thorin snapped at him, “axe or sword, what’s your weapon of choice?” The hobbit looked down at his feet, and was still stuttering, trying to form words, when Thorin dealt the final blow: “Thought as much,” Thorin said. “He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” With that, Bilbo stopped stuttering, and stared up at the dwarf in front of him, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape, his shoulders slumping. Thorin felt a pang of guilt, but he quickly buried it as Dwalin slapped him on the back, leading him towards the dining room, the rest of the company following behind. He had barely taken three steps when he heard the shout.

“HEY!”

Whipping around, Thorin was shocked at what he saw. Instead of slumped and defeated where Thorin had left him, the hobbit was marching towards him, not stopping until he stood right in front of the dwarf king, his face merely inches away. His eyes were full of anger, his mouth pressed into a deep frown.

“Now you wait just a second!” Bilbo shouted. “I don’t know where you learned your manners, but if you think you’re going to just walk into my home and insult me, you are deeply mistaken!”  
Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“The nerve! Strutting in here like you own the place!” Bilbo huffed, storming off. 

“I….I..” Thorin stuttered, his mouth hanging open. “I DO NOT STRUT!” 

Gandalf glared at him sullenly before following after Bilbo, while the rest of the company slowly made their way into the dining room. 

Sitting at the table, it was Kili who broke first, unable to control the laughter bubbling up inside him. He was followed quickly by Fili, and then by Bofur, the rest joining in until even Dwalin couldn’t hold back. Thorin glared at them all, eating the soup laid out in front of him quietly. 

Gandalf had returned a few minutes later without Bilbo, scolding Thorin about his poor treatment of said hobbit. Thorin had argued back that they didn’t need a hobbit, especially not one as soft and delicate as the Halfling in the other room, but Gandalf was adamant. 

“Please,” Thorin nearly shouted, “that hobbit is no more a burglar than I am an elf!”

Little did Thorin know that in the other room, Bilbo was listening, and he did not like what he heard. Not one bit. 

The company stayed the night in Bilbo’s home, though the hobbit did not show his face again. Fili and Kili slept next to each other on the couch, but Thorin quickly realized how bad an idea that was when the two spent half the night laughing and joking. It was Dwalin, however, who eventually got sick of the two and separated them, throwing Kili, who screamed like a little dwarfling, over his shoulder and carrying him to the kitchen, where he deposited him on the table, handed him a blanket, and dared him to speak. He did not. 

In the morning, the company set off, Thorin leading the way. The hobbit had still not shown his face, and while Gandalf had urged Thorin to go and apologize, he refused. Giving up and muttering about the stubbornness of dwarfs, Gandalf fell to the back of the line, wanting to put as much distance between him and the insufferable dwarf king as possible. They had been riding for about 15 minutes when they heard shouting from behind them. Pulling on his reigns, Thorin turned, only to see the Halfling running towards them. Letting out a sigh, he leaned forward, bracing himself on his pony’s warm neck. Bilbo caught up to them, gasping for air, and sputtered about coming on the adventure. Thorin opened his mouth to tell the hobbit to go home, but before he could get the words out, Bilbo stopped him. 

“You need a burglar,” he said, “and I can help you with that.” 

“Yes, hobbit, I need a burglar,” Thorin said, “but that, you are not.”

“You might want to look at your neck before you say that,” Bilbo replied.

Confused, Thorin looked down. It took him a good minute to register that the key he wore around his neck, the key passed down to him from his father, the key he needed to reclaim Erebor, was gone.

Looking back up, the hobbit stood in front of him, the key in his outstretched hand, and a cheeky smile on his face. Thorin stared at him, his eyes unblinking, for a good five minutes. 

“Kili, Fili,” Thorin finally called.

“Give the hobbit a pony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting everyone know, while I will probably post another chapter before the end of this week, the story will likely be updated only once a week for the following weeks. I'm on reading week now, but when I get back to school, my writing time will be severely limited.
> 
> The tragic life of an engineering student :/
> 
> Oh, also, I just wanted to give a quick thank you to everyone for reading! I really appreciate all the kudos and kind words :)


	3. Warmth in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it looks like this is going to be the final chapter posted this week. I will hopefully be able to update again by next Thursday or Friday. Thank you to everyone who has left kudos or comments, I appreciate it all :)

Dwalin usually rode next to Thorin. Having known the stubborn king for years, he was accustom to the dwarf’s ill-temper, and he could hold his own better than most when Thorin snapped at him. He knew the trials the dwarf king had been through, and understood the reason for his bitterness and resentment. Yes, Dwalin was one of the few people who could handle Thorin Oakenshield, and he was proud of this fact.

However, on this particular day, even this fearsome warrior made a point of riding behind the king. Far behind. 

Falling in line next to Ori, who gazed up at the larger dwarf in awe, Dwalin took a good look at the hobbit. In all the years he had known Thorin, he had never seen someone stand up to him. The dwarf king could make you feel half your size with a single glare, and if you invoked his ire, beware – his words alone could burn more than acid. The anger currently radiating off of Thorin was outstanding, such that even Balin dared not get too close. 

“Fierce little thing, this hobbit, isn’t he?” Dwalin said. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, not really. 

Ori, still gazing up at the massive dwarf beside him, turned bright red, trying hard to think of a witty reply. He was just about to answer when Bofur appeared out of nowhere, riding his pony right between the scribe and the warrior.

“Aye, he’s got some bite to him,” said the cheerful dwarf, his hat tilted slightly to the left. He hadn’t meant to interrupt Ori, he simply didn’t see the little dwarf there. He certainly heard him, though, as Ori let out a small strangled sound, moving his pony to the back of the line. 

“You alright there, lad?” Dwalin called, confused as to why the company scribe had turned such a vibrant shade of red.

Nodding furiously, Ori continued moving backwards until he fell in line next to Bombur, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Thorin stopped suddenly at the front of the line, the rest of the company following suit. Well, all except for Kili, who wasn’t paying attention, and accidentally rode his pony into the back of Thorin’s pony, startling the dwarf king. Pinning Kili with one of his signature glares and muttering under his breath about beardless dwarfs, Thorin shook his head at his nephew and dismounted his pony.

“We rest here for the night,” he shouted. “Kili, keep an eye on the ponies, if you can manage not to screw that up. Fili, give him a hand. Now, Bombur, get dinner started, we’re hungry.”

Fili got straight to work and started to tie the ponies to several sturdy trees located only a couple of minutes away from the main camp. He had just finished with the fifth pony – obviously Bombur’s pony, as the poor thing looked exhausted – when he noticed that Kili was not with him. Worried, he went looking for his brother, only to find him still mounted on his pony, in the exact same place Thorin had left him. There was a small frown on his face, and he looked deep in thought. 

“You know,” he said, when Fili approached, “I think uncle was right, we don’t need a burglar.”

“And how exactly are we to take out a dragon without one, then?” Fili asked.

“Easy. Just get uncle to glare at the poor beast long enough,” the younger dwarf replied.

Chuckling, Fili helped his brother dismount, and together they finished gathering the ponies.

As the other dwarfs set up the bed rolls, Bombur started making a stew, Bilbo and Bofur assisting him. It was already dark by the time they finished, and Bilbo started handing out the bowls of stew to the hungry dwarfs. Bilbo had already served all of the dwarfs sitting around the fire, and was just about to give a bowl to Thorin when the king raised a hand to stop him.

“Make sure Kili and Fili get some first,” he said, “along with you, Bofur and Bombur.”

Bilbo stopped in his tracks, surprised at the dwarf’s rare display of kindness. He must have stared at the dwarf a moment too long, for he could soon feel Thorin’s glare on him.

“Is there a problem, hobbit?” he asked, mockingly.

Huffing at the king’s harsh tone, Bilbo turned on his heel and went off to serve the rest of the dwarfs, but he could feel a burning gaze following him around camp. Finally, once everyone was served, he brought a steaming bowl to Thorin, handing it to the king and then retreating quickly away, not wanting to anger him any more than he felt he already had. As Bilbo scurried away, Thorin muttered a soft “thank you,” so quietly that Bilbo almost missed it. 

Almost.

Smiling to himself, Bilbo decided it was time for him to join the other dwarfs in slumber. His smile disappeared, however, when he quickly realized that the night had turned bitterly cold, and his bed roll was quite a distance away from the warmth of the fire. Sighing, he climbed under the blanket anyways, reminding himself that cold weather was to be the least of his worries on this adventure.

It took Bilbo a long time to fall asleep that night. Tossing and turning, he couldn’t keep the chill from seeping through his blanket. He had only just started to drift off when, suddenly, he felt a slight weight that hadn’t been there before resting over his body, and no small amount of warmth. He wanted to open his eyes, but he was so tired that they simply refused to cooperate, and sleep claimed him not a moment later. 

Waking up in the morning to Thorin’s gruff shouting of orders, Bilbo couldn’t help but question what that warmth had been last night. He looked down at his body, but there was nothing on him, save for his thin blanket. Convincing himself it was just a trick of his tired mind, Bilbo started to pack up his bed roll, and happily went off to help Bombur and Bofur make breakfast.

Had he only turned around before heading towards the cheerful dwarf and his brother, he might have seen Thorin watching him from behind. He might have also noticed that Thorin was not wearing his fur coat, but rather, clutching it in his hands. Yes, if Bilbo had turned around, he might have noticed many things.

But he did not.


	4. Burnt Hands and Grumpy Kings

Bilbo wasn't sure what to do. He had been laughing happily with Bofur and Bombur just a few minutes ago, and when they had left to go serve breakfast to the others, Bilbo had decided to start cleaning up. He was not paying attention, however, and rather than grabbing the pot over the fire by the handle, he grabbed the steaming hot edge. He managed to stifle his cry, not wanting the other dwarfs, who were busy eating and packing their belongings on the other side of camp, to hear him. Thorin had already made it perfectly clear that Bilbo was an outsider, and he went out of his way to make the hobbit feel small and useless. The last thing Bilbo wanted was for the other dwarfs to see him as a burden, and with a severely burned hand, Bilbo would be just that. Biting his lip to keep from screaming, Bilbo took a look at the damage. He had grabbed the pot with his left hand, and it was currently blistered all the way from the centre of his palm to the tips of his fingers. The blisters were angry, red, and sorely sensitive, and Bilbo almost passed out from the pain. Breathing in shakily, he closed his burning palm, his eyes welling up with tears from the pain, and stuffed his hand in his pocket. He strode quickly over to the other side of camp, looking around nervously to make sure no one was watching, until he got to his packed bag. Reaching inside, he pulled out a small bag of herbs he had packed, picked straight from is garden. He had learned how to treat certain illnesses with herbs from Old Took, though he had never actually had to use them before. Sure, he made a cup of herbal tea sometimes to settle a sore stomach, but living in the plush comfort of the Shire, Bilbo had never really managed to hurt himself more than a small cut, or as a child, a couple of skinned knees. He had definitely never burned the skin off his hand. As such, he had no idea really which herb to use. He was thinking back to his lessons from Old Took, when a shout of "BURGLAR" caught him off guard.

Stuffing the bag of herbs back in his bag, Bilbo turned just in time to see Thorin marching towards him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Thorin growled. "The pots need washing, the ponies need to be loaded, and you're sitting here doing nothing!"

"I....I.." Bilbo started to stammer, but he was quickly cut off.

"Save it," Thorin said abruptly. "I didn't expect much better of you anyways."

He turned and strode off, leaving a humiliated Bilbo standing alone, clutching his burnt fist in his pocket. The other dwarfs had turned to look when Thorin had started shouting, but they now turned away, with the exception of Bofur, who walked up to the hobbit and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright, lad. He's just in a bad mood, is all," the toymaker said.

"Is he ever in a good mood?" Bilbo countered, a small snort of derision escaping him.

"BURGLAR, ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE ME REPEAT MYSELF?," Thorin shouted from across camp.

Bilbo felt a deep blush climbing up his neck, and he stared angrily at Thorin. The dwarf king glared back, his eyes daring Bilbo to speak, but he didn't. Instead, Bilbo marched towards the pots, carefully lifted the largest one by its handle using his right hand, and started walking to the lake to start cleaning. Thorin watched him the entire time. Bilbo quickly regretted grabbing the largest pot, however, when he realized just how heavy it was. He struggled to carry it using only his right hand while he clutched his injured left hand close to his body, and of course, Thorin noticed right away. 

"Why don't you use two hands, Master Baggins. Maybe you'll actually make it to the lake," he said, mockingly.

Bilbo didn't answer. Instead, he continued what he was doing, struggling forward with the larger pot gripped in his one good hand. 

"Did you not hear me, hobbit?!" Thorin bellowed.

Bilbo ignored him once again. Storming towards Bilbo, Thorin was livid. Standing in front of the Hobbit, he opened his mouth to yell once more, but stopped when he saw the tears threatening to fall from Bilbo's eyes.

"What is your problem?!" Bilbo shouted, one of the tears rolling down his cheek. The pain in his burnt hand was overwhelming, and he felt warmth dripping down his wrist.

Looking down and noticing red liquid streaming slowly down the halfling's clenched palm, Thorin quickly made a grab for Bilbo's injured hand, but Bilbo pulled away.

"Let me see your hand," he commanded.

"Get away from me," Bilbo gritted out between clenched teeth, the anger in his voice startling the dwarf king.

"Bilbo, give me your hand," Thorin said again, reaching out for the hobbit, who shrunk away from him.

Gripping the pot still in his right hand, Bilbo stormed around Thorin, narrowly dodging the dwarf king's hand reaching for him. He was intent to wash the damn pot and get Thorin off his case, even though he knew the damage was already done. Thorin knew he was injured, and the king wouldn't ignore that, but Bilbo still desperately prayed that he would.

He stomped off towards the lake, dragging the pot, but Thorin was right on his heels. 

"BILBO!" Thorin shouted, grabbing the back of his collar, "STOP!"

Bilbo stopped. Not that he really had a choice. Thorin had a death grip on his collar, and Bilbo knew that struggling would only anger the king more. Instead, he resigned himself to Thorin's grip, his shoulders slack, another tear rolling down his cheek. 

"I don't know who you think you're dealing with, hobbit, but when I give you an order, you comply!" Thorin spat.

"So sorry, dwarf," Bilbo hissed before he could stop himself. He felt Thorin tense behind him, and he knew he was going to get it for that. But he couldn't help himself. The dwarf king had a way of bringing out the worst in Bilbo.

"What did you say?" Thorin asked, his voice unexpectedly calm. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought that's how we were to address each other, what with you calling me hobbit all day long," Bilbo spat back. "You may be King under the non-existent Mountain, Thorin, but you're no king of mine."

Bilbo instantly regretted his words. He didn't want to speak with such acid in his words, but nor would he go on letting Thorin treat him like dirt. He could feel Thorin's fist, still clenching Bilbo's collar, start to shake. He expected the king to strike him, to throw him to the ground. He did not expect him to release his collar and gently grasp Bilbo's lower left arm. One of Thorin's large hands grasped around his palm, the other gently trying to open the hobbit's clenched fist, a slow dripping of blood still flowing from where Bilbo had obviously clenched tightly enough to break the already damaged skin. Before he managed to pry Bilbo's palm open, however, the hobbit had pulled away again. 

"What happened?" Thorin asked, his voice gentler than Bilbo had ever heard it. 

"It's...it's nothing," Bilbo stuttered, cradling his injured palm in his other hand. "It's just a small....scratch, no big deal."

"Let me see," Thorin asked, his voice still calm and gentle.

This time Bilbo let him grasp his small wrist and gently open his fist. Upon seeing the angry, red burn, Thorin's eyes widened.

"A small cut?" he asked sarcastically, looking up at Bilbo. 

Bilbo refused to look at him. 

"Why would you try to hide any injury, especially one like this? Do you know how easily this could have become infected?" Thorin asked.

"Great, then I'd be a bigger burden," Bilbo muttered, still not looking at the dwarf king. 

Shocked at his words, Thorin was about to speak when Bofur appeared.

"Oh, there you are. We were wondering where you two went off to. Heard some screaming before, is everything okay? We just finished packing up the ponies...." the cheerful toymaker continued to prattle on happily, until he looked down and saw Bilbo's hand.

"Aule, what did you do to yourself, Bilbo? Hey, OIN!" Bofur called, "bring some of those herbs you've got there, our burglar is injured!"

"I can take care of it," Thorin snapped, but Bilbo had already pulled away.

Bofur helped Bilbo back to camp, bringing him to Oin, who was already busy mixing and mashing several assorted herbs into a salve.

Thorin, meanwhile, remained exactly where he had been standing with Bilbo, softly cursing a certain toymaker under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Thorin, just stop with your nonsense. We all know that the louder you yell, the more you care. 
> 
> And Bofur, for the love of Aule, stop interrupting just when things are getting good! If you weren't so darn adorable, I swear.....


	5. Misunderstandings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'll likely be posting more by tomorrow. Thanks to everyone who has been reading and commenting! I really appreciate all the encouragement!

Thorin Oakenshield was pacing. Now, this wasn't in itself odd. Thorin paced all the time, almost as much as he brooded, which, we have established, was quite a lot. No, what was odd was that for once, he was not pacing because of Erebor and his great losses. Instead, he was pacing because he had made a certain little hobbit cry. 

Thorin had made many people cry in his lifetime. Heck, one well-placed glare at Kili was enough to make the young dwarf break down into ugly sobbing. Yet, when he had grabbed Bilbo to try and see his burnt hand, and when he saw the tears roll down the hobbit's face, something inside of his chest tightened painfully. He felt....bad. He knew he had been harsh on the hobbit, but he hadn't meant to push it that far. When Bilbo had muttered about being a burden, Thorin was taken back. He wanted to keep the hobbit at arm's length. He did not want to make the poor halfling hide injuries for fear of his wrath. A little healthy fear of one's leader was good. This, Thorin knew well. It helped to keep people in check. However, it was respect for a leader that ensured loyalty, not fear. Thorin's dwarven company knew the king well, they knew all he had done for their people, and it was for this reason the dwarfs respected him and followed him on this journey to Erebor, knowing full well that it may as well have been a suicide mission. Sure, they were afraid of Thorin - his size, his presence, and even his voice was intimidating - but it was respect that made them loyal. Bilbo, Thorin realized, did not respect him. That much was obvious when the hobbit spat out a few burning insults, mockingly referring to the king as "dwarf," calling him "king under the non-existing mountain," and telling him he was no king to him. He had yet to prove himself worthy of respect to the hobbit, and while a part of him screamed that he shouldn't have to prove himself to a mere hobbit, he knew better. Said hobbit opened his home to Thorin and his company. He joined them on this suicide journey to take back their home, even though he had no ties to Erebor, no loyalties to the dwarfs. Thorin also knew that the gold at the end of the road did little to motivate the simple hobbit. No, Bilbo had agreed to help them out of the goodness of his heart, and Thorin had treated him like the dirt under his boots in return. 

Sighing, Thorin walked towards the fire, formulating what he was going to say to try and fix the poor image Bilbo had of him. It was at that moment he saw Nori, sitting on a rock and glaring. The glare on the thief's face was so intense, Thorin was almost jealous. Glaring was, after all, Thorin's thing. Of course, Nori's glare wasn't nearly as majestic as Thorin's, but it was dark and angry nonetheless. Following Nori's eyes, he froze when he saw the scene laid out before him.

Bilbo was sitting next to Bofur, much closer than Thorin felt was necessary between friends. Bilbo had his hand on Bofur's shoulder, and looked deeply enthralled in the story the toymaker told him, his hairy feet stamping as he burst into laughter. The hobbit was quickly sobered, however, when he laid eyes on Thorin standing across the fire. His face fell, and he quickly looked away. Thorin felt as though someone had taken the air out of his lungs. He slowly turned around and walked away.

Nori, however, continued to glare. 

Thorin hastily made his way to the outskirts of their makeshift camp, where Balin and Dwalin were sitting. Balin was smoking a pipe, his hand absentmindedly stroking his long white beard, and Dwalin was grumbling and trying to shine his axes with a worn out piece of cloth. Said cloth, however, was so overused that it made the axes dirtier than they had been in the first place, invoking the ire of the warrior. Balin tutted softly as Dwalin, fed up, whipped the cloth to the ground, picked up one of his axes, and slammed it down on the offending piece of fabric so hard that it went halfway into the hard ground beneath it. 

"That's enough now, laddie," Balin said, receiving an angry grunt in return from his brother, who was now struggling to pull his axe from the ground. Dwalin had finally managed to pull it out when he heard a small stuttering voice mumbling softly. Looking up, the company scribe was standing in front of him, his face red, his eyes looking down at his fists clenched tightly in front of him as he continued mumbling something Dwalin couldn't quite hear. 

"What's that, Ori? You'll have to speak up, lad," he grunted, and the scribe's eyes shot up to his face.

"Sorry, sorry," muttered Ori. " I just....well, I was thinking.....because yours is....well, um..." he continued, looking down at his hands again.

"You feeling alright, little one?" Dwalin asked, his voice laced with concern. The young scribe had been acting strange since the journey began, always going bright red and stuttering whenever Dwalin so much as looked at him.

Suddenly, the young dwarf thrusted his hand forward, handing Dwalin a small towel. It was beautiful, a small O sewn lovingly into the corner.

"It was from my mother," the scribe managed to spit out quickly. "She gave it to me when I started...well, tried to start training to sword fight, to clean my sword, but that didn't work out so well, so I don't need it and you do." 

Dwalin looked down at the small towel. 

"I...I couldn't take something your mother gave you, lad, it's obviously of great value to you, what with her being..." Dwalin started, but he was cut off.

"Please," Ori said, "my sling shot hardly needs cleaning, and I want you to have it sopleasejusttakeitplease," he said quickly, turning around suddenly and walking away, his face bright red.

"Lad!" Dwalin called out, and Ori whipped around.

"Thank you," he said. The young scribe let out a small strangled noise, a grin spreading from ear to ear, and continued walking away, a slight skip to his steps.

"What an odd one, that lad," Dwalin said, staring at Ori's retreating back. 

"You're not the sharpest sword in the armoury, are you brother?" Balin said, laughing at Dwalin's confused expression, then picking himself up and walking towards the fire, leaving Dwalin to stare after him as well.


	6. The Toymaker and the Thief

Bilbo was setting up the pots to start breakfast when Thorin finally worked up the courage to approach him. Bofur and Bombur usually helped with breakfast, but neither dwarf was in a state to handle hot cookware. In fact, neither dwarf was in a state to do anything other than sleep. After Bilbo had gone off to bed, Bofur and Bombur had stayed around the fire to chat a little more. It was not long after that Nori approached the two, sitting next to Bofur, who welcomed him with a hearty clap on the back and a warm smile. 

Bofur and Nori were not strangers – in fact, they had ran into each other back in Ered Luin. As a little dwarfling, Ori had been having a very rough time in Ered Luin. Preferring the company of his books and knitting needles, other dwarfs his age had seen him as an easy target, and he came home with a new bruise almost every day (though he did his best to hide them). Dori and Nori were outraged when they realized what was happening, but Ori refused to tell them the culprits, and tried his best to convince his brothers that it didn’t bother him. Of course, his fears and insecurities came out at night, when he would wake up sobbing and crying out. Nori felt helpless, but there wasn’t much he could do. He was already trying to keep a low profile, his thieving making him a target for police, and Ori simple would not name any names. Then, wandering the streets one night, Nori saw a small toy shop, and in the window, a little stuffed bear. He knew it was risky, breaking into a shop for a stuffed animal, but he just had to do it. He did not realize that the toymaker who owned the shop was still inside, tucked away in a back room, carving little wooden figurines. He found out about the other’s presence when said toymaker clapped a hand on his neck, startling him and making him drop the little bear. Nori knew he was out of luck when he turned and saw another dwarf march into the room behind the toymaker, brandishing a large knife and grunting wildly, and axe protruding from his head. 

“Bifur,” the toymaker said, “it’s alright, I can handle this.”

Nori looked up at him, taking in how warmly the dwarf smiled, even as he held a man he had caught thieving. He also noticed the odd hat the toymaker wore, long flaps sticking out from each side.  
Grumbling, the other dwarf stormed out of the room, and the toymaker bent down, picking up the small bear from the ground.

“You have a little one at home?” he asked, his voice calm and warm.

“My…my brother,” Nori managed to say, looking around wildly for a way out, planning to bolt at his first chance.

The toymaker took Nori’s hand, placing the bear gently in his palm. Then, smiling and nodding, he turned away, going back to carving his wooden figurines.

Nori had never felt as ashamed of his thieving as he did that night, and he never forgot the toymaker’s kindness. He gave the little bear to Ori that night when the little dwarf woke up crying, ensuring him that no matter what happened, the bear would always keep him safe. Ori slept more soundly that night than he had ever slept before, the little bear tucked snugly under his tiny arm. 

Nori had gone back to the toymaker’s shop a week later, having saved up enough money to pay him back for the stuffed bear, but Bofur turned him down. The two ended up heading over to the local pub and sharing an ale together, talking about their families and such. They hadn’t talked since, and both of them were happily surprised to see each other when they met up in Bilbo’s home, Nori especially. Though he could not work up the courage to go back to the toymaker and ask him out for another ale, he thought about him every day. Bofur had treated him like any other dwarf, even though he was a thief, and Nori had never felt more comfortable with anyone outside of his family as he had that night at the pub.

Now, sitting next to the fire with Bofur and Bombur, Nori pulled out a couple of bottles of strong ale he had nicked along the way to the Shire. The three of them spent almost the whole night laughing and joking, and managed to finish off both bottles, leaving them so hung over, poor Bilbo was left to do all the cooking alone. 

He could have, of course, woken them up, or asked other dwarfs for help, but once again trying not to be a burden (and trying not to get his new found friends in trouble with Thorin), he decided to do it alone.

Lifting the heavy pot over the fire, Bilbo winced in pain as he put pressure on his burnt hand. Oin had wrapped his hand in bandages, but it still hurt immensely when he tried to close his palm. 

“Do you require assistance, Halfling?” Thorin inquired, and Bilbo let out a small squeal, not having noticed the dwarf king standing behind him.

“Uh…um, no…thank you, Thorin, I’m…fine,” he managed to say.

“Your hand is bleeding,” Thorin stated, and Bilbo looked down, noticing the seeping red coming through the bandage. He must have reopened the wound when he tried to lift the pot.

Before Bilbo could respond, Thorin had placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards his bed roll. Bilbo froze suddenly, and looked at Thorin, who gazed at his confused expression before realizing he should probably tell the hobbit what he was doing before dragging him to his bed.

“Oh, um…” he started, then snapped his mouth closed, because kings DO NOT stutter.

Regaining his composure, he released Bilbo.

“Forgive me, Master Baggins. I have some experience with burns, having worked at the forge for so long. Oin is unavailable at the moment,” he said, gesturing to Oin’s bed roll, where the healer lay snoring, “so I will fix your bandages for you.”

Bilbo stared up at him with wide eyes.

“If you’ll let me,” he quickly added, remembering that he was still on bad terms with the hobbit. 

“Well….it’s just that…okay, I guess,” Bilbo stammered, unable to think of a reason why that was a bad idea, besides the fact that Thorin was, simply put, a dick.

Thorin smiled. 

Bilbo was horrified.


	7. The Danger of Compliments

Walking a couple of steps behind Bilbo as he gently ushered the terrified hobbit to his bed roll, Thorin suddenly felt uneasy. This was his shot to finally put things right between him and the Halfling, and he desperately wanted to – for the good of the company, of course. Totally not because Thorin couldn’t sleep at night knowing that Bilbo was in pain because of him. Definitely not because it physically hurt Thorin deep in his chest when the hobbit winced in pain every time he clenched his blistered fist. No, Thorin needed to keep his company united, and having the hobbit angry at him was threatening this unity. 

Yup. 

That was definitely the reason. 

No doubt about it.

When they reached the bed roll, Bilbo froze, not knowing what he should do. A part of him really wanted to bolt, but that wouldn’t be very respectable, now would it? Of course, abandoning Bag End to run off with a bunch of dwarfs on an adventure wasn’t exactly respectable either. But this was different. 

This was Thorin.

As he subconsciously planned out the best escape route, Thorin grabbed some materials from one of his packs. Upon his return, he took off his fur coat, placed it gently over the bottom half of his bed roll, and sat down on the top half, gesturing for Bilbo to sit on the soft fur. Bilbo opened and closed his mouth in confusion a couple of times, before Thorin reached up, grabbed his arm, and gently pulled him down. He was about to protest to being grabbed when he noticed that Thorin looked…..nervous. A blush creeping up his neck, Bilbo swallowed nervously and looked around at everything but the intimidating dwarf in front of him. 

Thorin, meanwhile, had started mashing up several different flowers and herbs in a small bowl. The colour of the salve he produced was different from the one Oin had put on Bilbo’s burn. Oin’s had been the colour of brown – well, brown mush, really. Thorin’s was a soft mixture of purple and green, and it smelled much better – like lavender. Oin’s had smelled of something so awful, Bilbo couldn’t even describe it. Oin’s salve had helped the burns to heal, but it did nothing for Bilbo’s pain, and he was secretly hopefully that Thorin’s might, as he really missed being able to close his hand. 

“Are you well-versed in the art of healing?” Bilbo asked, finding it hard to believe a king would need to know about healing. He quickly remembered that Thorin was no ordinary king, having his land ripped away from him when he was still a prince.

“I used to use this when I injured myself at the forge,” Thorin said suddenly, snapping Bilbo out of his reverie, “but I’m afraid it’s about the extent of my healing knowledge,” he added.

Thorin held his hand out expectantly, and Bilbo slowly placed his small bandaged hand in the dwarf’s larger, calloused one. 

Very carefully, Thorin managed to unwrap the bandages, with a gentleness that Bilbo never dreamed the king possessed. His face fell as he examined the burn, his posture stiffening as he realized the pain the Halfling must have been in. It was a bad burn, even worse than he had originally believed, and the large, open cut in the center was oozing blood where the wound had been reopened.

He very gently washed the burn, pausing and frowning every time Bilbo winced, and then continuing even gentler than before. Once the burn was clean, he applied the salve, and to Bilbo’s relief, the pain started to ebb away almost immediately. Bilbo let out a soft sigh, and Thorin smiled as he applied fresh bandages. It was then that Thorin realized it was the perfect time to apologize to the hobbit. 

But he didn’t. 

Instead he made a bad choice, a very bad choice indeed. 

He decided to try and compliment Bilbo.

In Thorin’s mind, a compliment was much better than an apology – it showed that he recognized the little things Bilbo had done. Plus, he argued with himself, he had never actually really apologized for anything before, so he would surely mess it up. What Thorin forgot was that he had never really complimented anyone before either. 

“Hobbit,” he said gruffly, and Bilbo looked up at him.

“Yes, dwarf?” Bilbo said, smiling, his voice laced with enough sass to rival even Gandalf.

Right, right, he wasn’t supposed to call Bilbo that anymore.

“Pardon, I meant to say Halfling,” Thorin said.

No, no, not that either.

“Uh, burglar,” he said quickly.

Come on, now, really?

“YOU ARE VERY STOUT,” Thorin nearly shouted.

There, that wasn’t so bad. Sure, he shouted at the poor Halfling, but at least he got the words out. Being stout was a respected quality amongst dwarfs, and to be called stout was considered a great compliment. Very smart thinking, Thorin. Brilliant, even.

Yet, Bilbo did not look pleased. 

In fact, his face had fallen, a blush rising to the tips of his ears.

“Oh…” he said sadly, his eyes downcast, “yes, I suppose, compared to you dwarfs, I am rather…stout.”

He looked up at Thorin now, and there was anger in his big eyes.

“But really, who says something like that? You, Thorin Oakenshield, have no manners whatsoever,” he spat.

Thorin was taken back, his mouth agape, as Bilbo stood up and stomped away.

“Seriously, of all the nerve! Why, if I wanted to hear about my faults, I’d go visit Lobelia!” he muttered loudly as he stormed off.

Thorin stared after him, confused. He thought he had done good.

“Nice job,” Dwalin snickered, having been sleeping on the bed roll to Thorin’s left when he was woken by Thorin’s shouted, supposed compliment. “Very majestically done,” he added, sarcastically.

Thorin glared at him.

“Nice cloth,” he shot back at the warrior, referring to the small cloth hanging out of Dwalin’s pocket, the delicately embroidered O visible for all to see. 

“The little scribe gave it to me,” Dwalin said defensively. “Mine….broke,” he added.

“You….broke a piece of cloth?” Thorin asked, confused.

“Might have dropped my axe on it,” Dwalin muttered.

“Ah, I see” Thorin said. “Well, at any rate, let me know if you intend to reciprocate the courting,” Thorin added. “I’d like to warn the poor lad about what he’s getting into,” he said, getting up and following after the hobbit.

Dwalin stared after him.

What courting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to quickly thank everyone who has been reading! You are all so awesome! Here, have a smiley face :)
> 
> The next chapter will be posted likely on Thursday night, and I intend to make my way back to the plot of the movie, hopefully making it to the trolls. I had actually expected to be further into the story now, but these characters seem to write themselves. Honestly, I sit down to write with a clear plan in mind, and I end up with Thorin being a dick again. 
> 
> I will hopefully extend more on the other relationships as well. Thorin and Bilbo are the main pairing in this story, but the other's will be featured more and more as things progress. Thanks again :)


	8. Of Protectors and Teddy bears

“He named it Rori, you know,” Nori said, gazing at his little brother’s sleeping form, a small smile dancing on his lip as he remembered back when Ori was just a tiny dwarfling. The little scribe was currently sleeping, curled up under his bed roll, the small, worn arm of a once fluffy teddy bear peeking out under his arm. After a long day of travelling (they managed to get lost twice under Thorin’s guidance before Balin gently took the lead away from the flustered dwarf king), the dwarfs had finally settled on a place to camp for the night. Kili and Fili were currently keeping an eye on the ponies while Bombur and Bilbo prepared dinner. Some of the dwarfs, Ori included, had decided to nap while the food was being prepared, while others, such as Bofur and Nori, sat around the campfire, sharing stories and pipe weed. 

“Really now?” Bofur replied, “and pray tell, why Rori of all things?”

“Because it reminded him of me,” Nori explained, “and, of course, because bears roar.”

Bofur gave him a blank stare.

“Get it? Nori, roaring, Rori. See? It’s like a combination,” Nori tried to explain, using his hands to mimic combining things into one.

Just at that moment, Bifur who had been sitting across the fire, jumped up, shouting something in Khuzdul and giving Nori a few choice hand motions of his own, before angrily storming off.

“Wh…what did I do?” Nori asked Bofur, who was currently clutching his stomach, bent over in cheerful laughter. 

“I believe you may have just insulted my mother,” he managed to say, pointing to Nori’s hands, which were still raised. The thief looked horrified.

“I….I…” he stuttered.

“Tis okay, I know what you were doing. I’d avoid Bifur, though. That hand motion he did, with the finger slicing across the throat? Pretty much means what it implies,” Bofur stated, still chuckling.

Nori turned pale.

“So, now, back to the teddy bear - Rori, you said it was?” Bofur continued.

“What? Oh…oh, yes, Rori,” Nori stammered, putting his hands deep in his pockets, where they wouldn’t cause any more trouble. 

“It’s the one you gave me when I….well, you know,” Nori muttered, looking down at his feet. “I gave it to him that night after I got home. He had been getting picked on by these bigger dwarfs, and he was just really…scared. I felt so helpless…” he sighed, his eyes travelling back to Ori’s sleeping body. “But the second I gave him that bear, his smile was just so huge. He hasn’t let it go since. He’s worn the thing out to the point that one of its arms fell off – Dori had to perform emergency surgery to stop the little one’s wailing,” he finished, chuckling.

Bofur gazed at him thoughtfully, his head slightly tilted, before placing a hand on Nori’s shoulder, giving the thief a bright smile.

What Nori did not know, however, was that little Rori’s arm hadn’t been lost due to wear and tear, but rather, due to the cruelty of a malicious dwarfling.

Little Ori had been walking home from the library one fine morning, his nose buried in a book, his oversized woolen cardigan falling down his arms, and under the front of his collar, the head of a little stuffed bear peeking out. He had just turned a corner, and a page in his book, when he distractedly ran straight into the back of another dwarfling. Collecting himself, he began to stammer out an apology, before looking up and meeting the eyes of the one dwarf he had hoped to avoid – his name was Narvi.

Narvi was not what one would call a good little dwarfling. No, the terms big and bad came more to mind when describing this particular dwarf. Standing half a foot taller than any other dwarf his age, he towered over the small Ori, who cowered in fear, his face red as he stammered apologies. 

“Well, well,” Narvi said, “if it isn’t the littlest runt of the Brothers Ri.”

“I…I’m sorry, Narvi, I – ”

“ENOUGH!” Narvi shouted, delivering a blow to Ori’s chest, strong enough to knock the poor little dwarfling off his feet. “To think, a waste of a dwarf like you calling me by name. You address me as sir, got it, runt?”

Ori nodded furiously from his place on the floor, his hands quickly grabbing for Rori in his shirt, finding some small comfort in knowing that the bear his brother had so lovingly given him was with him. Not that his comfort lasted long, though. Before Ori could even stand up, Narvi had knocked him down again, this time grabbing Rori from Ori’s clutches before the little dwarf hit the ground.

“Well, what’s this then? A little teddy bear from the little runt. Hmm. Maybe I should take this as payment for your clumsiness,” the larger dwarfling snarled.

“No, please!” Ori wailed, but his efforts only got him a kick to the stomach.

“Here, runt, I’ll leave you a souvenir,” Narvi said, maliciously tearing the arm of the helpless little teddy bear and throwing it to Ori, who lay weeping on the floor. Narvi carried little Rori away by the foot, the stuffing leaking out from the hole where the soft little arm used to be.

He did not make it very far before two large hands grabbed him, lifting him off his feet, and dragging him back to where Ori sat sobbing. Despite his struggling and protesting, Narvi could not escape from the iron grasp, and he was just about to unleash a string of nasty dwarven curses when he looked up and saw who had grabbed him. He froze, looking up at the head lawmaker of the Blue Mountains, terror overtaking him. 

It was Dwalin.

Albeit younger, and possessing slightly more hair, Dwalin was no less intimidating back then than he was now on the journey to Erebor, having been a fierce warrior even at that time. Unluckily for Narvi, Dwalin had witnessed the whole scene between Ori and the larger dwarfling as it unfolded, and he was not pleased.

“GIVE. IT. BACK,” he spat out between clenched teeth, leaning down until he was face to face, only inches away from the terrified dwarfling.

Narvi quickly obliged, handing Ori, who was still on the ground, the stuffed bear, his hands shaking.

“Now,” Dwalin said, “I’m going to give you a warning, just this once. If I ever catch you picking on another dwarfling again, I will hurt you so bad, what you did to that bear will seem like a mercy,” he said threateningly, whispering the last bit close to the shaking dwarfling’s ear.

Thrusting Narvi away from him, he let out a growl that sent the dwarfling off running.

Leaning down, he reached a hand out to little Ori, who was still sitting on the ground, his arms wrapped possessively around his injured little teddy bear, his whole body shaking. After a moment’s hesitation, Ori took the offered hand, and Dwalin helped him to his feet. Dwalin inspected the little dwarfling for injuries, and, content that besides a few bruises, Ori was not greatly injured, gave him a small pat on the head, asking if the dwarfling would like him to escort him back home. Ori shook his head, afraid of what would happen if Dwalin recognized Nori at his home, and Dwalin smiled softly, handing him the book he had dropped when he ran into Narvi, and watching after the little dwarfling as he scurried off.

Dwalin did not recognize Ori years later, when they both ended up joining Thorin’s company to reclaim Erebor. 

But Ori recognized him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all :)
> 
> Sorry I haven't been able to post that much this week. Midterms :/  
> Hopefully I'll be able to get another chapter in by tomorrow, and maybe we can finally make it to the trolls, which was the plan this time around, but, then Ori came along with his adorable little bear. This chapter was more to establish the history of Dwalin and Ori. Now, we can get down to some serious feels :D Hopefully. If these character would just stop writing themselves, and let me do some writing, we'd be much further along in the story.
> 
> Anyways, thank you all for reading! I appreciate all comments, kudos and views :)


	9. A Sackful of Majesty

Bofur left Nori by the fire as he went off to help Bombur and Bilbo prepare the meal for the evening.  Bombur had made a stew, thick chunks of the nine rabbits Fili and Kili had managed to catch throughout the mixture, plus, a dash of rosemary, courtesy of Bilbo, who had picked some from his garden before chasing after the dwarfs that first fateful morning at Bag End.  Bofur started to ladle out the stew as Bilbo handed it out to the dwarfs, and when Bilbo went to deliver some to Fili and Kili, who were off watching the ponies, Bofur brought a bowl to Thorin, who, he noticed, seemed rather disappointed when he handed the bowl to him.

Almost as if he was hoping someone else would have brought it to him.

Or maybe he just didn’t like rabbit.

Whatever the case, Bofur was too hungry to think, so he grabbed a nice bowl for himself and returned to his spot near the fire, right next to Nori, whose smile stretched from ear to ear when he noticed Bofur had returned. Nori opened his mouth to say something, but before the words were out, the dwarfs heard shouting coming from the forest, and a terrified looking Fili appeared, gasping for breath, as he stumbled over his words.

“ENOUGH!” Thorin boomed, “Catch your breath, then speak.”

“B…b…but, Bilbo, and th…th – ” Fili tried, before being cut off once again by Thorin.

“BILBO?! WHAT HAPPENED TO BILBO!? SPEAK, BOY, NOW!” he shouted, jumping up, dropping his stew all over Dwalin’s boots in the process. Dwalin looked down at his boots, and then up at Thorin, flashing him a look that would rival even Bilbo in its sassiness.

“Tr – trolls,” Fili gasped out.

The words had barely passed his lips before Thorin had grabbed his sword and ran into the clearing where the ponies and his nephews had been.  The rest of the company soon followed, all brandishing their weapons.

He got there just in time to see his burglar being used as a troll handkerchief.

He turned around to the company, who were, like him, crouched low beneath the bushes surrounding the troll camp. He was about to tell them his plan to sneak up on the trolls when, from the bushes on the opposite side of the troll camp, he heard “I’M COMING, BILBO!” and Kili jumped into sight, slashing wildly at the trolls.

Thorin wanted nothing more to strangle his nephew for screwing up his majestic plan of attack, but he did, admittedly, feel a small pang of pride for the younger dwarf’s courage.  The pang lasted for about two seconds before one of the trolls threw Bilbo at Kili, who promptly dropped his weapon and landed very unmajestically on his back on the forest floor, Bilbo on top of him.

Then Thorin just felt jealous.

Not that he’d ever admit it, though. Very unkingly.

The trolls had just started to advance on the dwarf and hobbit when Thorin charged in, weapon drawn, the rest of the company following suit.  He made a point of grabbing Kili and dragging him up, tossing him towards his weapon.

And, of course, away from Bilbo, who Thorin ensured was behind him at all times while he slashed at the trolls.

What Thorin forgot to take into account was that also behind him, was one of the trolls.

He quickly realized this when said troll picked up poor Bilbo, and threatened to tear his limbs off if the company didn’t drop their weapons.

 It took Kili all of three seconds to forget, once again, to think ahead, and he charged wildly towards the trolls.

It took Thorin four seconds to grab his nephew, and throw down his sword.

The company, once again, followed suit.

And so, there they were, half of the company tied to a spit, roasting over a fire, and the rest, including Thorin, tied up in sacks.  Thorin tried everything to get out of the sack.  Heck, he even tried biting through the rope, which was not at all majestic. Nothing seemed to work.

Then Bilbo jumped up, and started to actually TALK to the trolls, of all things.

About seasoning.

“Have you smelt them? You’re going to need something stronger than sage to plate this lot up!” the hobbit shouted to the trolls.

_Wow_ , Thorin thought to himself.

_Rude_.

The hobbit started to tell the trolls about skinning the dwarfs, prompting even Thorin to shout angrily at the traitorous little creature. When Bilbo saved Bombur with the mention of parasites, however, Thorin realized that he was playing for time.

Kili did not.

Thorin kicked him softly.

Okay, Thorin kicked him HARD.

Either way, he shut up, soon realizing the hobbit’s ploy for himself and shouting about how big his parasites were.

Thorin wanted to face palm, but his hands were tied.

Literally.

Luckily, it was only a couple of minutes later that Gandalf appeared, thank goodness, and turned the trolls to stone.

When they’re all untied, Thorin begins to walk over to the hobbit, wanting to tell him how brilliant his ploy to play for time was.

Before he gets there, Gandalf appears and tells him how brilliant Bilbo’s ploy to play for time was.

Thorin plays it cool, putting on a stony face, and nodding solemnly at the wizard, before walking in the other direction, towards Dwalin.

Dwalin mentions that the trolls must have a cave nearby, and the company sets out to look for it. It does not take them long, and they are soon deep in the disgusting cave, Thorin and Gandalf delving deep, while Bofur, Gloin and Oin make a “long term deposit,” burying a chest of gold and other treasures deep in the dirt, Dwalin watching over them, pretending to judge them and rolling his eyes, but secretly wanting to join in.

Not very warrior-like conduct, unfortunately.

He turns his head around, looking to the entrance of the cave, where the little scribe is pacing nervously.  Dori calls to his little brother from outside, and Ori quickly turns around and walks towards his brother, something falling out of the bag on his back as he does so. Dwalin goes to pick it up.

It’s a little teddy bear, the floppy arms hanging limply at its side.  One of the arms has stiches at the seam, and it appears to have lost one of its black eyes, a little brown button in its place. It’s so small, the entire bear fits in the palm of the warrior’s hand.

_Huh_ , Dwalin thinks to himself, _cute little thing_.

He feels a memory stirring, something just out of reach, but it’s gone before he can grasp it.

Shaking his head at the lost thought, he walks up to the little scribe and hands him back the bear.

Ori looks up at him, his big eyes widening at the sight of the warrior holding his teddy.

And then Dwalin turns and walks away.

Ori clutches the bear close, muffling a shaky sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we made it to the trolls! Yay! There is some progress!
> 
> I will hopefully be able to post before next weekend, but, I've got a busy week at uni, so unfortunately, that may not happen. I will try my best, though. 
> 
> Just clarifying a couple of things: This is mostly movie-verse, but very loosely, as I am kind of going off on a lot of tangents. When we get past the carrock, it will turn more book-verse, since there is no movie out yet XD Also, we will return to Thorin brooding in the present time period, however, the journey in its entirety will happen first, right up to where Bilbo leaves Erebor. Then it will continue on a bit from broody Thorin. It's going to be a long journey, but hopefully, it will be worth it if you stick with the story until the end.
> 
> I sincerely hope you do :)
> 
> Thanks to all readers, and any comments or kudos are appreciated! If I do not comment back, its not because I don't appreciate or read all your comments, I just seem to be lacking time for everything lately, even writing the story itself :)
> 
> In closing, THANK YOU!


	10. A Moment of Peace

Thorin lifts a sword off of the filthy ground of the troll cave, slowly unsheathing it.  It’s beautiful, the blade shinning brightly, even under layers of dirt and spider webs.  The carvings on the sword were obviously put there by an expert craftsman, and the sword fits Thorin’s hand like a glove, the weight and balance just perfect for the dwarf king.

Thorin is in awe.

“These were forged by the high elves of – ” Gandalf says, but he doesn’t even finish his sentence before Thorin has thrown down the sword.

It was ugly anyways.

“YOU COULD NOT ASK FOR A FINER SWORD,” Gandalf bellows, and Thorin pauses.

He picks up the sword.  Maybe he could use it to open letters or something. Really, really big letters. If not, he could always borrow the sword Gandalf just gave Bilbo, tiny thing that it is. He looks over at the hobbit, who is currently waving the tiny sword around wildly. Thorin smiles.

He just realized how to get closer to the hobbit.

Once again, for the good of the company, of course.

Not at all because he cares.

One must make sacrifices for the good of the majority.

“Master hobbit,” Thorin shouts, walking over to Bilbo, whose face falls slightly at the sight of Thorin approaching.

“Yes, Master dwarf?” Bilbo says, his voice dripping with false sweetness.

He smiles, a fake, cheeky smile at Thorin.

“ _Master_ hobbit this time…..some progress, I’ll give you that,” Bilbo sighs.

“I aim to please,” Thorin says, mimicking the hobbit’s sarcastic tone.

“You must have terrible aim, then,” Bilbo lets slip.

Thorin glares at him.

“You have a sword,” Thorin states simply.

“Very perceptive. I can see where your nephews get it,” Bilbo replies, thinking back to Fili’s brilliant deduction that “if there is a key, there must be a door,” back when they were at Bag End. Bilbo had been upstairs, fuming about Thorin’s rudeness, but he could hear the entire conversation going on downstairs, and even he couldn’t help but shake his head at the young dwarf’s obvious observation.

“You do not know how to use a sword,” Thorin continues, ignoring Bilbo’s sass.

“Is it a family trait maybe, pointing out the obvious?” Bilbo says, more to himself, sighing.

“I can teach you,” Thorin concludes.

“Oh, ah, well, that won’t be necessary, really…” Bilbo stammers, his face turning red.

“We start tomorrow, at sunrise,” Thorin states, then turns to leave.

“Uh, now wait just a second!” Bilbo calls after him, “I believe I declined your offer!”

“You need to be able to defend yourself,” Thorin says, “so situations like the troll camp do not happen in the future.”

“That was hardly my fault!” Bilbo protests, and though Thorin knows his words to be true, he refuses to let the hobbit know this.

“Sunrise,” he repeats, then turns back to the troll cave.

On the way, he encounters his nephews.

“Uncle Thorin!” Fili shouts, trying desperately to think of something to distract his uncle from asking the inevitable question. He fails.

“What, in the name of Durin, were you two fools doing when I asked you to watch the ponies?” Thorin shouts angrily.

The two young dwarfs turn bright red.

“We….we were watching them, the trolls, they just came out of…of…nowhere,” Kili stammers.

“They uprooted a tree right next to you. How did you not hear?” Thorin demands.

“Well, we were….umm…” Fili starts saying, but quickly falls silent.

Both dwarfs look down at their feet, avoiding their uncle’s glare.

It was at that point that Thorin noticed they were holding hands.

Two male dwarfs getting together was nothing new to Thorin.  Female dwarfs were scarce, and honestly, the difference between the appearances of male and female dwarfs was almost solely between their…bits and pieces, if you will.  It was almost rarer to find a male and female couple than it was to find two males.

In addition, Thorin had already suspected a relationship between his young heirs, seeing how close they had always been. 

That was not the problem.

The problem was that they had been so distracted, they missed a troll uprooting trees and stealing the ponies right next to them.

“You will both do double time on your night watches for the next fortnight,” Thorin decides.

“But uncle!” Fili starts to protest.

“And you are not to serve your watch times together. Perhaps then you can learn how to avoid getting so…distracted,” Thorin says sternly. He does not want to hurt the two dwarfs, and he knows separating them will do just that, but he needs them to see the consequences of their actions.

His – no, THEIR, burglar could have been killed because of them! 

“But, uncle Thorin!” Kili whines.

“Stop your whining, Kili. It’s unbecoming of a prince,” Thorin states, prompting Kili to whine some more.

“This is not fair!” Kili says, stomping angrily.

“You don’t even have a beard,” Thorin states simply.

That just about does it. Kili breaks down into gross sobbing.

_Mahal_ , Thorin thinks to himself, walking away, _he acts like such a 50 year old sometimes._

To Thorin’s left, Gandalf and Dori are leaning on a tree next to one another, sharing puffs of Old Toby.

“Really, Master Gandalf, when this journey is over and done, you simply must try my special blend of camomile tea!” Dori says, looking up at the much taller wizard, a smile stretching across his face.  For once, the eldest of the Brothers Ri looks…well, he looks happy.

“Of course, Master Dori, it sounds quite lovely indeed,” the wizard replies, smiling down at the dwarf.

“Perhaps we could share a cup over a game of chess!” Dori suggests.

“So long as I can bring Old Toby!” Gandalf replies happily.

A few feet across from the older dwarf and wizard sits the little scribe, currently scratching away in his book, his teddy bear tucked comfortably under his arm.

To the left of Ori stands Balin and Dwalin, the elder shaking his head as the warrior goes on about his war hammers, his pride and joy.

Meanwhile, to the left of them, Gloin goes on about _his_ pride and joy, namely, his son Gimli, to his brother Oin, who dozes against a tree trunk, having stuffed a piece of cloth in his ear trumpet without Gloin noticing.

Nori, Bofur, Bifur and Bombur stand, exchanging stories and jokes, near the cave entrance, Bifur casting an angry glare at Nori every couple of minutes, still upset about the hand motion incident.

All is well for the moment, the entire company finally starting to relax after the troll scare.

And then there is a rustling in the bushes.

Something is coming.


	11. Of Tossed Hobbits and Suspicious Rabbits

As the rustling in the bushes grew louder, it was clear something was heading towards the company, and it was something big.

“SOMETHING’S COMING!” Thorin roared, and within seconds, the company had gathered around each other, weapons drawn.  Ori had dropped his slingshot when Dori had pulled him out of his thoughts so suddenly after Thorin’s shout, and Dwalin, noticing the smaller dwarf was standing unarmed, made a point of grabbing the little scribe and thrusting him behind him.  Bilbo, meanwhile, had no clue what was going on, prompting Thorin to grab him around the waist and literally carry the shocked hobbit to the safety of the crowded company.

One arm still wrapped tightly around the hobbit’s waist, Thorin drew his sword, pointing it menacingly towards the rustling bushes, expecting anything from an orc to a vicious warg to jump out.

Instead, out popped a wizard riding a sleigh of rabbits.

“Radagast!” Gandalf shouted, lowering his sword, and telling the rest of the company to do the same as he conversed with the odd, brown-clothed wizard.

Thorin lowered his sword slightly, still wary of Gandalf’s apparent friend.  Something about those rabbits on his sleigh just rubbed him the wrong way.  He never really liked rabbits.  They didn’t eat meat, and had a strange fondness for carrots.

He found that very suspicious. 

He was so distracted with glaring at the rabbits that he didn’t notice he still had his arm around a certain hobbit.  He was made aware of this when said hobbit let out a small cough in an attempt to get Thorin’s attention, and, in his shock, Thorin panicked and literally threw the hobbit away from him. Poor Bilbo stumbled, falling on his bottom a few meters away from where the dwarf king stood with a loud thud.

“Really, now?” Bilbo muttered, picking himself up.

Thorin was horrified.

“Hobbit! You scared me!” Thorin shouted, trying to delegate the blame to Bilbo.

“Dwarf! You threw me!” Bilbo shouted back, mockingly.

“I….I….I apologize,” Thorin said, not knowing what else to do.

Bilbo froze.

“You…apologize?” he said, incredulously.

“Yes,” Thorin said quickly, bracing himself for the verbal war he was sure the hobbit would start.

“Oh….okay, then. Apology accepted,” Bilbo said, stumbling away, still rubbing his sore bottom. He had expected Thorin to react by shouting back, or even threatening him.

An apology? 

Now that was unexpected.

Thorin stared at the hobbit’s retreating back, confused. Had he just avoided an argument with those two small words?

He must have thrown the hobbit harder than he thought.

Not a moment later, he heard said hobbit shouting, and a warg jumped out of the bushes, landing right in front of Thorin, who, quick as lightning, stuck his sword – the “ugly” elven one – into the creature’s head.

When Gandalf would later glance down at the sword in his hand and give Thorin a knowing smile, the dwarf king would argue that he had meant to leave the useless sword embedded in the creature’s brain.

Even he knew that was a lie.

It was a perfect sword for him.

Back to the warg attack, Thorin had barely pulled the sword from the warg’s head before another warg appeared, this time coming from behind him.  Before he managed to react, Kili fired a bow, killing the warg on impact.

Thorin looked over to his young nephew and gave him a nod of approval.

Kili stifled a sob of joy.

Concluding that they were being hunted, and that the wargs were simply scouts, to be followed closely behind by an orc pack, Thorin tried desperately to think of a way to escape.

Just at that moment, Ori appeared, shouting that the ponies had bolted.

Great, Thorin thought to himself.

Now they were really done for.

Radagast spoke up suddenly, stating that he would draw the orcs off with his rabbit sleigh.

Thorin glared at the floppy-eared creatures, thinking that this situation couldn’t get any worse.

It got worse.

While Radagast and his rabbits had done a relatively good job of drawing the orcs away, one had slipped from the group, standing over the boulder behind which the dwarfs, hobbit, and wizard were hiding.

Putting his faith in his nephew, Thorin looked at Kili, then down at his bow, signaling with his eyes that he wanted the young dwarf to take out the warg and his rider quickly and quietly, before the other orcs noticed.

Kili nodded, taking a deep breath and drawing his bow.

He missed.

He managed to hit the warg in the leg instead of the head, eliciting a loud cry from both orc and warg, prompting the rest of the orc pack to stop their pursuit of Radagast and go after their intended dwarven prey. 

Gandalf shouted for the company to run.

He did not have to shout twice.

They managed to escape the orcs by slipping into a small passage hidden behind a few boulders.

The fact that Gandalf had found the passage made Thorin apprehensive.

The fact that elves arrived and dispatched of the orc pack seconds after he slipped into the passage made Thorin suspicious.

The fact that the passage led to Rivendell made Thorin angry.

The fact that Bilbo was in awe of Rivendell’s beauty made Thorin furious.

“Draw a picture, hobbit, it will last longer,” Thorin spat as an elf came out to greet them.

“But look at it all! The elves are just so…so…majestic!” Bilbo said happily.

“THEY AREN’T MAJESTIC, THEY’RE JUST GRACEFUL,” Thorin shouted angrily.

Blasted hobbit, thinking elves have majesty.

“Calm down,” Bilbo said, frowning.

“Erebor! Now Erebor was majestic!” Thorin ranted.

“Yeah, yeah, large mountain, pretty rocks, I get it,” Bilbo muttered.

Thorin froze.

Pretty rocks.

PRETTY ROCKS.

He started twitching.


	12. Of Missing Hobbits and Death by Braids

Thorin opened his mouth, prepared to unleash the tongue lashing of a lifetime on the sassy little hobbit before him, but before he could, he heard a trumpet sound and Dwalin shouting, and was abruptly pulled, along with the hobbit, towards the gathered company, who stood together in a circle formation, weapons drawn.  Looking straight ahead, Thorin understood what was happening, for riding towards the company were, to Thorin’s dismay, elven soldiers. On horses.

_At least they aren’t riding elks_ , Thorin mused to himself, though even that fact did little to ease his apprehension.

He looked over to where the hobbit was standing beside him, and blast it, the little bugger was looking up at the elves in awe.

“They’re so – ” Bilbo began.

“GRACEFUL,” Thorin interrupted him, “and nothing more.”

Bilbo glared up at him.

Before long, Gandalf had introduced the company to Lord Elrond, and Thorin had begrudgingly accepted the elven lord’s offer of food for his company.

They had just started to follow Lord Elrond to the promised food when Thorin realized that Bilbo was still standing outside, gazing at everything, his eyes wide, a smile from ear to pointed ear. He looked so happy, so at peace, that Thorin almost didn’t want to disturb him.

Almost.

But, of course, he did.

Grabbing Bilbo by the hand, he dragged the protesting hobbit along, muttering under his breath about the annoyingness of halflings while Bilbo raved about the rudeness of dwarfs.

Damn hobbit, thinking elves were something to be admired.

“What do you have against elves anyways?” Bilbo questioned, angrily, his brows furrowed, “they have been nothing but kind since we arrived, and all you can do is glare and mutter curses at them!”

“Oh, well, perhaps you’d prefer the company of elves to dwarfs then, wouldn’t you, hobbit?” Thorin seethed.

“I HAVE A NAME, DWARF,” Bilbo all but shouted, “AND AS A MATTER OF FACT, I WOULD FIND EVEN THE MOST ILL-MANNERED ELF BETTER COMPANY THAN YOU!”

“WELL, WHY DON’T YOU JUST STAY HERE THEN?” Thorin roared.

“MAYBE I WILL,” Bilbo roared right back, still struggling to get out of Thorin’s grasp.

Thorin went pale, and his grip on Bilbo’s hand went slack.

He turned to look at the hobbit, and there was something in his deep blue eyes that Bilbo had never seen there before.

It was fear.

“Is…..is that what you want?” Thorin asked, his voice a pained whisper, his blue eyes searching Bilbo’s hazel ones.

Bilbo was taken back.   He was about to answer, to assure the dwarf that he had no intent to abandon the company, but just as quickly as it had appeared, the fear in Thorin’s eyes was gone, and the rage was back.

“Are we dwarfs that repulsive to you, our presence that vile, that you would abandon us at first chance?” Thorin sneered.

Bilbo flinched at the anger in the dwarf king’s voice, but, feeling his own anger boiling up inside of him, he quickly regained his composure, took a step towards Thorin, and looked him straight in the eyes.

“I don’t know what your problem is, Thorin Oakenshield, but that’s just it – it’s your problem. I have never threatened to leave this company, have put up with your rages, your insults, and your bitterness, and you still have no faith in my loyalty to this company,” Bilbo whispered, his voice calm and controlled, but his shaking hands betrayed his rage.

“You think that proves your loyalty?” Thorin questioned, slightly taken back by the intensity of the hobbit’s glare.

“I think you should see anyone who doesn’t run in the opposite direction after spending five minutes with you as loyal,” Bilbo spat, “because Eru knows it takes a heck of a lot out of a person to be in your company.”

Bilbo watched as Thorin’s shoulders dropped slightly, and he saw the flash of regret pass through the dwarf’s eyes, but he knew that any and every emotion Thorin felt only ended with anger, so he marched off in the opposite direction before Thorin could speak.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Bilbo said simply as he walked off.

Thorin stared after him, his mouth still open, his words still on the tip of his tongue.

He was going to _apologize_.

It wasn’t until late that night, long after dinner (which was full of green vegetables and devoid of meat, drawing the ire of the entire company), that Bofur noticed that Bilbo had not been seen all day. 

Thorin panicked, realizing the last time he saw the hobbit was when he had threatened to leave the company.

Or when Thorin had implied that he had threatened to leave the company.

Even Thorin wasn’t sure exactly who had threatened what during that argument, but the fact was, Bilbo was gone.

He searched the halls wildly, checking behind every door, but he couldn’t seem to find the Halfling.

That is, until he reached the library.

The librarian, a tall elf (of course, to Thorin, they were all freakishly tall) with wavy, white hair reaching down past his shoulders, looked up at Thorin as he stormed in the library, and before the elf could open his mouth, the dwarf was stumbling over his words, panic and worry evident in his voice.

“You! Elf! Have you seen my hobbit? Uh, the hobbit, not my hobbit….he’s about yay high,” Thorin stuttered, holding his hand just under his nose to symbolize Bilbo’s height, “and he has wavy, copper hair, and big, deep, hazel eyes, and he yells really loud when he’s angry, which doesn’t make sense, because he’s so tiny, but somehow he does anyways.”

The librarian stared at him.

Thorin stared back.

The stares quickly turned to glares.

Then, from behind him, Thorin heard a voice.

“I’m not that tiny,” it muttered.

Whipping around, Thorin found Bilbo sitting in the far left corner of the library, one huge book open on his lap, and a small pile of others to his right.

“Thanks for all your help,” Thorin said mockingly to the librarian, glaring one last time at the white haired elf, before striding over to where Bilbo sat.

“Auta miqula orqu!” The librarian called after him, smiling and nodding when Thorin glanced back at him.

Thorin narrowed his eyes, but nodded back, not knowing what the elf had said, but assuming it must have been a farewell of some sort.

“Hobbit,” Thorin stated when he was finally standing in front of Bilbo.

Bilbo gave him a sassy look, and Thorin corrected himself.

Or tried to, at least.

“Halfling,” he said.

No, no, Thorin.

“Master hobbit,” he tried.

Really?

“Half – hobb – ling” he stuttered, frustration taking over him.

“Bilbo,” the hobbit stated, watching Thorin struggle with a look of amusement on his face.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Thorin shouted, quickly catching himself.

“Uh, I mean….where have you been, B - Bilbo?” he repeated, quietly.

“Oh, look at that, you do have an inside voice,” Bilbo said sarcastically, returning his attention to his book, and adding quietly, “I’ve been right here.”

“What are you reading?” Thorin asked, noticing the dwarven runes decorating the large book.  The writing on the pages inside appeared to be Khuzdul, with a translation in Westron written in below the main text.

“It is a book on dwarfs, actually,” Bilbo said simply.

Thorin glanced down.

He saw his name on the page.

“Is that…my family history?” Thorin asked quietly.

“The history of Erebor,” Bilbo said, turning the page.

“Why are you reading about Erebor?” Thorin asked.

“So I can understand where you’re coming from, and hopefully, resist the urge to strangle you with your own braids while you sleep,” Bilbo stated calmly.

“And how is that going?” Thorin asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I think I’ll be able to make it through the night….though I would fare much better if I could read the sections that haven’t been translated,” Bilbo sighed.

“Would – would you perhaps – welcome…my assistance?” Thorin nearly whispered, looking down at his boots.

Bilbo looked up in surprise.

“I would be honoured.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translation of the librarian's elven 'farewell' is actually "Go kiss an orc."
> 
> Or so I've been told.
> 
> By the internet.
> 
> I don't actually speak any Tolkien languages, so it could mean something completely different.
> 
> Either way, Thorin needs to watch who he glares at. 
> 
> I will likely update next Thursday, and I will then continue on with the other pairings as well. Thank you to all my readers, and to everyone who has commented or left kudos! I appreciate and love all the encouragement! Here, a virtual hug for everyone: O (The O is the hug in XOXO, right?)


	13. Warmth and Potatoes

“See, this here, it means mountains,” Thorin said gently, pointing at a collection of rough-looking characters on the top of the page.

He was sitting on the ground next to Bilbo in the corner of the elven library, the huge book spread across both of their laps.

He sounded the word out in Khuzdul, the rough, guttural pronunciations coming from a place deep in his chest. Bilbo tried to mimic the sound, but his voice cracked, and he sounded rather more like he was choking.

Thorin laughed heartily as he clapped Bilbo on the back.

“Perhaps we’ll stick to translated word for now, and work on the speaking part later,” he laughed, as the hobbit beside him turned bright red, a huge smile across his cheeks at his own expense.

The librarian stepped out of the room for a moment, and opening the door, accidentally let in a cool draft of the night air, making Bilbo shiver next to Thorin.

“Are you cold?” Thorin asked, concern lacing his voice.

“No, no, it was just the breeze,” Bilbo responded, though he scooted ever so slightly closer to Thorin.

Thorin took off his fur coat, and before Bilbo knew it, the dwarf king had pulled the hobbit against his warm chest, and had wrapped the coat around them both.

“Better?” Thorin asked, his voice husky.

“Better,” Bilbo replied, his face now glowing red.

And it was.

 Not only was the dwarf radiating heat, but with his head pressed softly against the other’s chest, Bilbo could not only hear, but actually feel the soft rumble of Thorin’s voice.  And if Bilbo were to be completely honest with himself, there was really nowhere else he wanted to be than in the stubborn dwarf’s company.

Sure, Thorin was hard-headed.

Sure, he was pompous and arrogant.

Sure, he was a dick.

But aside from all that, Thorin was the only person Bilbo had ever met whose smiles, though rare, made his knees feel weak, and whose laughter made him feel warm inside.

He was the only person who Bilbo had ever worked so hard to impress, and whose respect Bilbo wanted more than anything.

And Bilbo, though just as stubborn as the dwarf king, could not deny his feelings anymore.

He was in love.

He nuzzled closer to Thorin, and he heard the dwarf’s breath hitch slightly before he wrapped his arm tighter around the hobbit.

Thorin started to read to Bilbo from the large book, his voice soft and gentle, the vibrations from his chest soothing Bilbo as he leaned in even closer.

It was in this spot that Dwalin found them the next morning, curled up together with the large book still open on their laps, Thorin’s arm wrapped tightly around the hobbit, whose head rested in the crook of Thorin’s neck.  Both of them were asleep, Bilbo sleeping soundly while Thorin snored gently, his mouth just above the hobbit’s curly hair. 

Shaking his head and smiling, Dwalin opted to leave the two alone, and went off to find some breakfast.

Aside from the king and his hobbit, Dwalin was the last to arrive for breakfast.  The dwarfs had all gathered outside, preferring to cook their own meals than accept any more green vegetable dishes from the elves.  Bombur was frying some rabbit meat, courtesy of Kili and Fili, who had spent the morning hunting.

Dwalin plopped himself down next to Ori, who was scribbling away in his book. The scribe jumped slightly when the warrior settled down beside him, blushing and staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Goo – goo – good morning,” he stammered.

“Aye, that it is, laddie!” Dwalin bellowed, “and have I got a surprise for you!”

Ori’s eyes got wider.

“I wanted to thank you for your kindness in giving me that cloth for my axes the other day,” Dwalin continued, “so I managed to get some ingredients from the tree-huggers.”

He tilted the basket on his arm slightly, allowing Ori to peek inside.

There was a large bottle of oil.

Ori thought he might pass out.

That is, until he realized that there was something below the oil.

Potatoes. Lots of them.

“We’re going to make chips!” Dwalin said, smiling, remembering how the scribe had been looking for some at dinner the night before.

Ori beamed back up at him, a smile from ear to ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's a short chapter. I just wanted to give you readers something for the time being. I will try to update again, hopefully tonight, with a longer chapter. 
> 
> Thank you all, once again for your continued support and encouragement!


	14. Of Half-bits and Curly Pillows

The first thing Thorin thought when he woke up was that he was home in Erebor.  He felt a sense of comfort that he hadn’t felt in years, ever since the day Erebor fell. 

In fact, for the first time since Smaug’s attack, Thorin felt truly at peace. 

His eyes still closed, he wrapped his arms tighter against his warm pillow, burying his face deeper into the mass of curls below his face.

Wait a minute.

Curls?

Freezing for a moment, Thorin realized, to his horror, that his pillow was not only covered in curly hair, but was also doing something very unpillow-like.

It was breathing.

Hesitantly pulling his face away and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with one hand, Thorin was greeted with the sight of none other than Bilbo Baggins, wrapped tightly in the dwarf king embrace, and staring back up at him with a look of pure terror in his eyes.

They stared at each other for a good couple of minutes before Bilbo dared to speak.

“So….” he began, “did you….sleep well?”

“Uh, yes, very,” Thorin replied, averting his gaze away from the hobbit’s face, “and you?”

“Very….warmly,” Bilbo replied, also shifting his gaze away.

“P-perhaps we should go and find the others, hobbit,” Thorin said.

He felt, rather than saw, Bilbo’s icy glare.

“Apologies, I meant Half –,” Thorin began, stopping himself quickly and biting his bottom lip.

This really shouldn’t be difficult by now, Thorin.

“HALF-BIT,” Thorin nearly shouted, and then buried his face in his hands in shame.

“IT’S BILBO, YOU INSUFFERABLE DWA – ” Bilbo shouted back, but he was abruptly cut off by Thorin’s warm lips pressed roughly against his own.

Then, just as quickly as he had kissed him, Thorin pulled away, horrified and refusing to meet Bilbo’s eyes.

“I – I apologize,” Thorin nearly whispered, bracing himself for the blow he was sure Bilbo was about to deliver.

Instead, he felt a soft hand gently rest itself against the back of his neck.

Daring to look up, Thorin was suddenly pulled forward gently, as Bilbo pressed a soft kiss to his chapped lips.

Groaning deeply but softly, Thorin placed his large, calloused hand around the back of Bilbo’s head and deepened the kiss slowly, wary that Bilbo might change his mind and try to pull away.

Bilbo responded in kind, allowing Thorin to part his lips gently.

Neither the dwarf nor the hobbit had ever felt so at peace.

///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\///\\\\\

Meanwhile, back outside, Ori was heating a pot of oil over the make-shift fire the company had created while Dwalin peeled potatoes and sliced them into thin sticks.

“This is how my da used to make them,” Dwalin mused, “when Balin and I were but dwarflings.”

Ori sat down next to Dwalin, pulling out a small knife from his pack to help him peel the potatoes. As he pulled out the knife, however, his teddy bear, Rori, came tumbling out with it.

Ori quickly grabbed the bear, but before he could put it away, Kili noticed it and plopped himself next to the little scribe.

“What’s that, Ori?” He asked, curiously, grabbing the little bear and looking it over.

“Hey!” Ori shouted, and Dwalin set down the potato he was peeling.

“Give it back,” the warrior ordered gruffly, and Kili looked at him confused.

“I’m sorry,” Fili said, appearing suddenly, and sitting next to Kili, “my little brother needs to learn some manners.”

Then, turning to Kili, he gave his brother a whack to the back of his head.

“What did I do?” Kili asked, rubbing his head, still looking confused, as Ori took the teddy bear from his hand.

“One doesn’t simply grab things from other people’s hands, you big dummy,” Fili lectured, “it’s rude.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Kili stammered, “I didn’t mean to offend you, Ori, I just wanted to see it!”

“It’s okay, I’m not offended,” Ori said softly, hugging the bear possessively, “I just – Rori is just…personal.”

“Rori?” Fili asked, lifting an eyebrow curiously.

“Hey, Ori, you’re bleeding!” Kili shouted suddenly.

Ori looked down at his hand.  In his confusion when Kili had grabbed the bear, he must have gripped the edge of the knife, and he had managed to cut himself.  It wasn’t a deep cut, and it didn’t hurt, but he was bleeding.

Dwalin quickly, albeit gently, grabbed his hand.

Leaning in close to look at the injury, Dwalin pried Ori’s palm open with one hand and gently held his arm still with the other.

“HEY!” Someone shouted suddenly, and everyone turned around to see a very angry dwarf stomping towards the scene.

It was Nori.

“WHAT DID YOU DO? GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY BROTHER!” he shouted.

Bofur was behind him, trying to calm him down.

“Nori, it was an accident!” Ori said, “I did it to myself, Dwalin is just helping me!”

It was no use.

All Nori saw when he looked at Dwalin was the law enforcer who had thrown him in jail countless times, ignored his pleas when he explained that he was only trying to support his family and begged him to release him.

The tension between Nori and Dwalin had been high since the journey had begun, but watching his little brother look up the warrior Nori hated with such intensity, and watching Ori defend the warrior, was too much for Nori to handle.

Dwalin saw the anger flaring in Nori’s eyes and stood up, glaring right back at the thief.

Nori was only about a foot away from Dwalin when he raised up his fist, ready to strike, but something grabbed his hand, and he jerked back, hearing a sickening crunch where his elbow landed sharply.

He turned around, and his face went white.

It was Bofur.

He had hit Bofur.

In fact, he had hit Bofur so hard in the nose, that he was almost sure he had broken it, and the blood streaming from underneath the toymaker’s hands hinted that he was probably right.

“No, no, no,” Nori whispered hoarsely, his rage forgotten, and he took a step towards Bofur, who took a step back cautiously.

Then, out of nowhere, a rock came flying, making contact with the back of Nori’s star-shaped head.

And everything went black.


	15. If Looks Could Kill

If looks could kill, the company would have lost both Bifur and Bofur that fateful day.

Storming over to where Bofur now crouched over Nori’s unconscious form, Bifur was in a rage.

How dare that poor excuse for a dwarf strike his cousin?

HOW DARE HE?

Sighing and taking a hesitant step forward, Dwalin placed himself between Nori’s body and the approaching dwarf, telling himself that no matter the animosity between him and the thief, no other dwarf present stood a chance against the rage of Bifur.

He was wrong.

Just as Bifur bent down and grabbed another rock, now less than five feet away from where Nori lay, Dwalin heard a sharp and clipped command sound from behind him.

“DON’T.”

It was Bofur.

All humour gone from the usually cheerful toymaker’s eyes, Bofur strode right up to Bifur, standing only inches away from the enraged dwarf’s face.

Bifur stared at him, his eyes wild.

Bofur stared right back, one hand still clenched over his bleeding nose.

They stayed like that for a long time, the tension thick between them, until finally, Bifur dropped the rock.

Bifur growled something in Khuzdul low enough that only Bofur could hear, but Bofur just shook his head and repeated his earlier command.

“Don’t.”

His hands still visibly shaking with rage, Bifur shook his head sadly at Bofur.  Then he quickly turned on his heel, leaving Bofur and the other dwarfs staring after him.

Kili and Fili carefully lifted poor Nori off the ground, carrying his still unconscious body away to find Oin.  Bofur trailed along behind them.

Dwalin, meanwhile, was in shock, so much so that his brain almost didn’t register that at some point during the confrontation, Ori had walked up behind him, placing a small hand on his arm.

He was made aware of this fact when said dwarf let out a shaky sigh.

Placing his larger hand over Ori’s smaller one, Dwalin smiled down at the little scribe.

“And now, back to the chips,” the warrior said.

Ori let out a small chuckle.

Aw, how cute.

He thought Dwalin was joking.

He wasn’t.

As the two went back to their chip-making, for the first time all day, Bilbo and Thorin finally emerged from the library.

Peeking his head out of the library door, Thorin looked left, then looked right, and, satisfied that no one was there, stepped out of the library, Bilbo following close behind.

Then, sharply turning a corner, Thorin let out a very unmajestic yelp as he barreled into the small form of Balin.

“Balin, wha-what are you doing here?”  Thorin demanded, quickly regaining his composure and grabbing Bilbo, tucking him behind this broad back, as if to hide him.

“Oh, uh, I was just going to check out the library,” Balin stammered, still dazed from the collision with Thorin’s rock-hard abs (of majesty), “why, is something wrong, laddie?”

“No, nothing,” Thorin said quickly, giving Bilbo a small kick as the hobbit struggled behind him. Bilbo let out a small squeak at the kick.

“Lad….why are you hiding Master Baggins behind you?” Balin asked, confused.

“I’m not,” Thorin replied quickly.

“Thorin, I can see him.”

“No.”

“Oh for the love of Eru, Thorin,” Bilbo said, exasperated, coming into full view in front of Balin, despite Thorin’s attempt to hold him back.

“Bilbo, where did you come from?” Thorin said loudly, faking surprise.

Bilbo and Balin shook their heads at him in unison.

Balin tutted softly before continuing on his way to the library.

“What was that all about?” Bilbo questioned when the older dwarf was finally out of earshot.

“You don’t understand,” Thorin replied simply.

“Understand what?” Bilbo asked angrily.

“Understand Balin,” Thorin sighed.

“Honestly, the only person I don’t understand right now is you,” Bilbo replied.

“He knows,” Thorin said, placing his head in his hands.

“He knows what?” Bilbo questioned, exasperated.

“About us, he knows about us!” Thorin shouted, at the end of his rope.

“How?” Bilbo asked.

“He just does,” Thorin said, “it’s a Balin thing.”

“A Balin thing?” Bilbo asked, staring blank eyed at the dwarf king.

“Let the games begin,” Thorin said softly, more to himself than to Bilbo.

And he was right.

By the end of the day, the entire company knew about Bilbo and Thorin.

Most were pleased.

Others?

Not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL FANS OF THIS STORY, PLEASE READ THIS!!!
> 
> Now, I've come to a bit of a crossroad in the direction I want to take this story, and since you are the audience I am writing for, I thought maybe you could help me out. By the time we reach the carrock in this story, we will be over 20 chapters in, which is much more than I expected when I started. Thus, I give you two options.
> 
> Option 1: We follow the adventure up to the carrock. After that, I cover the rest of the journey in one chapter (a brief summary of the events after the company was left on the carrock by the eagles, all the way to the Battle of 5 Armies). Then, I continue the story on from Thorin brooding, which happened in chapter 1. Basically, with this option, we fast forward ahead a bit to the modern time, as the entire journey is told in flashback, and continue forward from there.
> 
> Option 2: I write the entire journey out, including mirkwood...etc, and we get to Thorin brooding from chapter 1 and continue on from there only after the whole story is told. Considering it will take over 20 chapters to get to the carrock, this will be a looong story.
> 
> I just don't want anyone, including myself, to get bored with this story before it ends. Thus, I would appreciate it if you could take the time to vote. Leave a comment with your vote, Option 1 or Option 2, and I will base my decision on how to continue from those results. If you'd like to explain why you chose your option, that would be appreciated as well, but just a vote is fine too.
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading and commenting! I love you all! I will cut the vote off on Friday, March 29, 2013 at midnight. The reason this chapter is so short is because depending on the vote, this story may take very different directions.
> 
> Thanks everyone!


	16. Wizards May Arrive When They Mean to, but Some Dwarfs Come Too Early

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: 
> 
> THERE IS SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER.
> 
> POORLY WRITTEN, BUT EXPLICIT NONETHELESS.

“It just isn’t proper, is all,” said Gloin, pacing around the makeshift fire.

Oin rolled his eyes.

“Thorin can love whomever he wants, you great git,” he said impatiently to his fire-haired brother.

“Thorin? Who’s worried about Thorin? It’s the burglar I’m worried about!” Gloin exclaimed.

“The hobbit?” Oin questioned.

“Aye! Think about it! If we are successful and we take back Erebor, Thorin becomes king – what happens to the burglar?” Gloin almost shouts.

Oin stares at him.

“He can’t be consort to the king, we’ll have a mutiny on our hands! Which dwarf do you know will bow to a hobbit?” Gloin says, exasperated.

“Are you that full of yourself, brother, that you see the hobbit who so willingly joined us on this suicide mission as below you?” Oin said softly, looking up at his brother with a look of disbelief.

“I would welcome the hobbit into Erebor with open arms, but you know very well that when the dwarfs in Ered Luin come back to Erebor, there will be trouble!” Gloin shouted.

“Have you already married Thorin and the hobbit off, then?” Oin said.

Gloin opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“Calm yourself, brother, and let Thorin have his fun,” Oin continued, “because Mahal knows, he needs it.”

“It isn’t fair to the hobbit,” Gloin said sternly.

“The hobbit can makes his own choices,” Oin chided.

“Not if he doesn’t know what he’s getting into,” Gloin said softly.

“Stay out of it, brother,” Oin said, sighing.

Gloin sat down, his brow furrowed in frustration.

Oin took a deep breath.

He knew what he needed to do.

“So, what has my nephew been up to as of late?” he asked, casually stuffing a small piece of cloth into his ear trumpet.

Gloin’s face lit up.

It was going to be a long night.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

Bilbo was strolling through the halls, on his way to the library, when he was yanked suddenly by his collar, and pulled roughly behind a pillar.

“Wha – what?” he sputtered, as he was ungracefully thrown against the cold stone of the wall.

He looked up.

Thorin smiled down at him, a wicked look in his eyes.

“I have a present for you, my one,” Thorin whispered mischievously.

“Is it a back massage? Because I sorely need one after being whipped against the wall,” Bilbo said saucily, rubbing the spot where his tender muscles had met the hard stone.

“Better,” Thorin grinned.

Bilbo was terrified.

That is, until Thorin pulled out a bottle.

Then he was just confused.

“Vinegar?” he asked, staring up at the dwarf.

“No, love…oil. I managed to swipe it from the kitchens,” Thorin whispered, leaning in and nipping on Bilbo’s ear.

“I’m pretty sure that’s vinegar, Thorin,” Bilbo managed between soft moans.

“No,” Thorin said simply, continuing his nipping.

“Thorin, look at it,” Bilbo said, pushing Thorin away gently.

“Blast it, hobbit, must you be so infuriating?” Thorin growled angrily, “it is clearly oil!”

He brought the bottle up and held it in front of Bilbo’s face.

It was vinegar.

Before the hobbit could even open his mouth, Thorin was gone, having bolted off in the direction of the kitchen, grumbling about tree-huggers and their trickery.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

Later that night, as he left the library and bid the elven librarian a good night, Bilbo was, for the second time that day, yanked roughly by his collar.

This time though, he wasn’t yanked behind a large pillar or thrown against a cold wall.

Instead, he was dragged into his room, the one Lord Elrond had so graciously provided him.

In fact, Lord Elrond had provided rooms for all the dwarfs, but of course, the stubborn company had all opted to sleep outside on their bedrolls instead.

Bilbo, on the other hand, was not about to miss a good night’s rest in a warm bed, especially not after spending so much time sleeping in the cold outdoors surrounded by snoring dwarfs, so he had accepted the room, much to the chagrin of the other dwarfs and to the pleasure of the elves.

The room had a large, elf-sized bed, and a breathtaking view of Rivendell.

But of course, that wasn’t why Thorin had chosen this room to drag Bilbo into.

No, he chose this room because the door had a lock.

And for what he intended to do with the Halfling, a locked door was a necessity.

Scooping Bilbo up into his arms, Thorin had the brilliant idea to throw the hobbit onto the soft bed, and then ravish him.

It did not quite go as planned.

Instead, when he whipped the hobbit down on the bed, Bilbo hit the mattress and then bounced right over the side, landing flat on his bottom.

In hindsight, Thorin should have probably lightly thrown him on the bed instead of whipping him.

We all make mistakes, Thorin.

Groaning, Bilbo climbed up the side of the bed, rubbing his sore behind as he did so.

Thorin joined him, climbing over Bilbo to straddle him, and then shoving the hobbit down roughly on the bed by his shoulders, hoping to get him flat on his back.

Instead, the top half of Bilbo’s body hit the bed, and then bounced up, the hobbit’s forehead colliding with the dwarf’s chin.

“Hobbit, control yourself!” Thorin shouted, rubbing his chin.

Bilbo glared up at him as he rubbed his head.

“Be the master of your own body!” Thorin continued.

Sighing, Bilbo opted to shut the dwarf up with a kiss, and in response, Thorin groaned into his mouth, deepening the kiss.

Gently easing Bilbo’s soft lips open, Thorin slipped his tongue into the warmth of Bilbo’s mouth, tasting the sweetness that was his hobbit. Bilbo moaned softly, and Thorin felt a shiver run down his spine. 

Nipping at Thorin’s bottom lip, Bilbo weaved his hand into Thorin’s mane, tugging gently.  Thorin responded in kind, wrapping a hand around the hobbit’s neck, and gently easing him down onto the mattress.

Yes, that’s right, gently this time.

Bilbo wrapped his legs tightly around Thorin, grinding his hips roughly against the dwarf king’s, and eliciting a small whimper from his lips.

A majestic whimper, of course.

Bilbo could feel Thorin’s hardness pressed against him as the dwarf lay flush against his body, trailing soft kisses along his hairless jaw.  Pushing Thorin back, Bilbo reached for the laces on Thorin’s breeches, untying them quickly with his nimble fingers and slipping a hand into the dwarf’s underclothes, stroking Thorin’s hard length.  The dwarf was much larger than Bilbo had expected, and he felt a small grip of fear, wondering how that would….well, you know…..fit.

Thorin almost lost control at the touch, bucking wildly into Bilbo’s tight grasp, his head thrown back.  He let out a shaky groan as he struggled to slow down his wild thrusts, knowing that even at the slight touch, he was already so close. When Bilbo withdrew his hand, placing a small chaste kiss on Thorin’s lips, the dwarf let out a small broken sound of protest, the tight ache in his balls almost too much to bear.

Pushing Thorin down onto the bed and climbing over him, Bilbo pulled the dwarf’s breeches down all the way, and for the first time, got a full look at the dwarf’s throbbing length.

He was thoroughly impressed.

It was almost……majestic.

Leaning down and once again gripping the dwarf king’s hard length, Bilbo did something Thorin simply was not prepared for – he took Thorin into his mouth.

Swirling his tongue around the sensitive tip and sucking gently, Bilbo placed one hand around the base of Thorin’s cock and began to stroke him tightly.

It was too much for Thorin to bear.

Thorin tried to tell Bilbo to stop, he really did, but the only sound he could seem to make was a deep moan.

A couple more strokes, and that was it.

It was too late to stop it.

Throwing his head back, Thorin let out a sharp cry, his climax stronger than anything he had ever experienced spilling into his own hand.  Bilbo pulled his mouth back, but kept his hand pumping firmly as warm spurts shot up from Thorin’s throbbing length, pouring down his hand.  Thorin let out a small sob and collapsed on the bed, taking a pillow and placing it over his head.

He was mortified.

Bilbo tried to pull the pillow away, but Thorin pulled it even tighter against his face.

At least if he suffocated himself, he wouldn’t have to live with the shame of his failure.

“Thorin,” Bilbo sighed, “let go of the pillow.”

“No,” was the muffled reply.

“It’s okay, Thorin, I’m not angry,” Bilbo tried.

Thorin snapped up.

“Not angry? How could you not be? I – I’ve failed you! I’m a disappointment to my –” he began stammering, but he was cut off as Bilbo placed a finger against his lips.

“That’s enough now, Thorin,” Bilbo said.

“But –,” Thorin tried.

“Now, now, love…I’m sure we can find a better use for that mouth than blathering apologies,” Bilbo purred, running his finger along Thorin’s bottom lip.

Thorin’s eyes lit up.

Well.

It was going to be a very interesting night after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all,
> 
> Just letting everyone know, the results of the vote were pretty mixed (I added them from both this site and the other site I posted my story to), so I've decided on a compromise. I will likely reach the carrock around chapter 20, which is a lot. After that, I will go through the rest of the journey, but in only a few chapters. Like under 10 or 15. So they will be much less detailed than these ones, and will focus more on main events and key moments rather than little details. Then we will continue with Thorin brooding from chapter 1.
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments, and for voting :) I'm glad to know most of you have yet to get bored with this story. I was afraid I would start to lose followers if I went on too long :)
> 
> Happy Easter weekend :D


	17. Chips, and Beads, and Noses, Oh My!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all,
> 
> So, I know, I’ve been kind of absent for like two months. I’m not going to lie, I actually had given up on this story. But then, I realized, I absolutely hate it when people give up on stories half way through, and I didn’t really want to give up, I just had severe writer’s block. Anyways, this is a very short chapter, but starting today, I will be continuing the story, and there will be updates as often as I can manage. I’m sorry for the long wait….hopefully I can make it up to you now 
> 
> By the way, there will likely be another update or two by the end of today.
> 
> And once again, I apologize for the wait and the short chapter now.

It was late the next afternoon when Nori finally woke up.

Trying to sit up, Nori quickly collapsed back down on the cot as a throbbing pain shot through his skull.  He clenched his eyes closed and let out a pained moan before attempting to open his eyes.  When he did, he saw Bofur sitting by his side.

And it all came rushing back to him.

“Bet you’ve never had this type of a hangover before,” Bofur said quietly from beside him.

“You’d be surprised,” Nori whispered back, letting out a shaky breath.

“Bofur,” he began, but the toymaker cut him off.

“It was an accident, Nori, I know,” he said, and smiled down at the thief.

But it was a forced smile.

And they both knew it.

“I should go tell Oin you’re awake,” Bofur said quietly, and stood up.

“I’m sorry,” Nori said as he walked away.

Bofur paused for a moment.

And then continued to walk away.

Because dammit, his nose still hurt like hell.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

Just as Bofur arrived back at the main camp the dwarfs had set up, Thorin came rushing in, Bilbo following close behind him.

“Well, where have you two been?” Dwalin asked, smiling knowingly at Thorin.

The warrior was sitting next to the makeshift fire with Ori, munching on the chips they had finally managed to make.  Ori, meanwhile, was staring up at him, a dreamy look on his face.

Across the fire, Dori was glaring daggers at Dwalin.

“You two? What makes you think I was with….” Thorin began, then looked back and noticed Bilbo behind him.

“You were supposed to wait five minutes so we didn’t come back together,” he whispered angrily to the hobbit.

“Can I help it if you’re a slow walker?” Bilbo whispered back.

Thorin levelled at glare at him.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow back.

Balin walked by and tutted.

Dwalin burst into laughter.

“We need to leave,” Thorin said loudly, turning away from Bilbo and towards the rest of the company.

“When?” Gloin asked, strutting towards the fire, having just woken up from an afternoon nap.

“Now,” Thorin replied, “Balin and I had a meeting with Lord Elrond last night, and he deciphered our map, but the elves now know about our quest. Gandalf is distracting Lord Elrond as we speak.”

“What about Nori?” Bofur asked, “he’s only been conscious a few minutes now.”

“Nori? What happened to Nori?” Thorin asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Well, if you hadn’t been off with Master Baggins there all night, perhaps…” Dwalin began, only to have a stone whipped at his head, which he narrowly avoided.

“I can manage just fine,” Nori said, coming up behind Bofur.  He was pale and moved slowly, but he was walking well enough.

“Bofur, what happened to your nose?” Bilbo asked, choking back a laugh, “it’s even bigger than usual…and my, what a lovely shade of red.”

“I’ll fill you in, just as soon as you explain why you have Thorin’s bead in your hair,” Bofur said, smiling cheekily at the now flustered hobbit.

Thorin’s eyes widened in horror as he turned to look at Bilbo, who was now roughly tugging the bead out of his hair.

“You were supposed to keep it hidden in your pocket,” Thorin hissed to Bilbo.

“You’re the one who wanted to see how it would look on me,” Bilbo whispered back angrily, shoving the bead into his pocket.

“Confound it, hobbit…” Thorin seethed.

“Well, now, while the two lovers quarrel, why don’t we all start packing up so we can get a move on?” Dwalin piped up, only to have another stone whipped at his head.

This stone did not miss.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Of Break Ups and Obliviousness

Bofur was many things.

Apart from being a toymaker, he was an amazing storyteller. He was kind, sweet, and had a gentle heart. He had the kind of smile that could brighten even the worst of days, and the most infectious laughter in all of Ered Luin. He wasn’t the brightest of dwarfs, but he knew enough to get around, and he could always see the good in even the worst of characters.

He was not, however, oblivious.

Bofur knew exactly what was going on with Nori.

Yes, Bofur knew why the dwarf had been acting so strange, why he had been walking around with such a pained, longing look in his eyes.

Nori was in love.

And Bofur knew with whom.

It was obvious, really.

It was Dwalin.

It made perfect sense. The warrior had arrested the thief many times back in Ered Luin, and the tension between the two was palpable. Yet, Bofur knew that tension and intensity could only lead to one thing.

Passion. 

 _They would be perfect together_ , he mused to himself, picturing a future Nori teaching his dwarflings how to pick a lock while Dwalin silently face palmed behind him.  Domestic bliss, for sure.

Or something like that.

Either way, as Nori’s friend, Bofur knew he had to help the forlorn thief get his one and only.

No matter what.

Even if it tore his heart out to see the love of his life in the arms of the warrior dwarf.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

“You had best keep up, Mr. Baggins,” Thorin hissed as they walked away from the lush and beautiful Rivendell, up the ledge of a cold stone mountain.

Bilbo was standing near the end of the Company, staring longingly back at the blasted elven outpost.  Even at this distance, the hobbit was enraptured in its beauty, his eyes glazed over and his mouth slightly agape.

He turned at Thorin’s comment, sending the dwarf a glare.

They had been so close over the last couple of days, but ever since Thorin announced they were leaving Rivendell, the distance between them had grown.

Bilbo grew up listening to stories from his mother about the elves and their grandeur.  While he may have had all of her dishes and tea cosies back home at Bag End, the only piece of her he really carried with him at all times were the memories of her sitting him on her lap as a child and telling him of her adventures.

And Thorin was ruining those memories for him.

All the confounded dwarf had talked about since entering Rivendell was how horrible and distasteful the elves were. He called them tree-huggers, and ranted about their poor craftsmanship and stupid faces.

It was enough to make a hobbit like Bilbo sick.

And that just wasn’t proper.

Turning on his heel, Bilbo stomped towards Thorin, walking right by him with an upturned nose.

Thorin let out a frustrated huff, commenting under his breath about stupid halflings.

Bilbo made an off-hand remark to Kili, loud enough for Thorin to hear, about how majestic he found the elvish library to be.

Thorin’s right eye started to twitch rather violently.

Poor Kili let out a whimper and fell to the back of the line, far from his uncle’s glare.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

The wind had picked up, and rain was falling hard by the time they were half-way across the mountain ledge.

Thunder crashed behind the dwarves, until Bofur looked back and realized that it wasn’t thunder at all.

“STONE GIANTS!” he called out, pointing at the approaching giant, whose head was promptly smashed in when a giant from the other side whipped a rock the size of Bag End at it.

“It’s not a thunder storm, IT’S A THUNDER BATTLE!” one of the others cried out.

It wasn’t long before the ground started to move beneath the company, and they realized that they themselves were standing not on a mountain, but on the knee of a stone giant.

As the ground began to separate beneath them, the company rushed to cross the rapidly increasing gap between safety and stone giant knee cap, but for half of them, it was too late.

“KILI!” Fili cried out as his brother was pulled away from him on the giant’s knee, and he watched, helplessly, as the same knee collided with the stone wall of the mountain only moments later.

Miraculously, the dwarfs all survived.

Fili ran to his brother, and as soon as Thorin ensured both his nephews were alive, he ran to find Bilbo.

Who happened to be hanging off of the ledge, clinging on for dear life.

Bofur rushed to grab the hobbit, as Thorin majestically jumped off the side of the cliff to hoist the hobbit up.

As Bilbo was lifted to safety, Thorin lost his footing, and was saved only by the quick thinking of Dwalin, who grabbed his hand just in time, pulling the dwarf king up the ledge.

“I thought we lost our burglar,” Dwalin said as they all caught their breaths.

“He’s been lost since he left home,” Thorin spat, his ego bruised after having almost fallen off the cliff.

Bilbo winced as if Thorin had struck him, and Thorin felt a twisted pang of satisfaction.  That is, until the guilt washed over him a moment later.

By then, however, it was too late.  Bilbo had already made up his mind.

He was going home.

And to hell with Thorin Oakenshield.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

Everyone was asleep when Bilbo decided to take his leave of the company.

They were huddled together in a cave, waiting for the storm outside to pass before travelling.

Bofur had taken first watch, but even he was dozing lightly near the cave entrance.

Packing his belongings, Bilbo made his way over and around the dwarfs strewn across the cave floor.

He was just about to walk out the entrance when Bofur woke up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked the hobbit, who froze, and then turned to face the confused toymaker.

A few feet behind him, Thorin roused and slowly opened his eyes.

Just in time to see his hobbit about to walk out of his life.


	19. Emotional Constipation and Its Effects on Majesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> So sorry for the delay. As much as I'd like to update every day, I stupidly did not write any chapters before posting, and thus, have to write each chapter before I post it.....that's confusing sounding, but you know what I mean. Basically, I have no chapters done ahead of time in case life gets in the way of my writing schedule. And life has been pretty hectic lately.
> 
> Anyways, I just want to thank everyone! The kudos, the comments, and the support are awesome! You make me so happy :)
> 
> I will try my best to update as often as possible. 
> 
> I apologize in advance if that doesn't work out as well as I plan.

Thorin jumped up, just as Bilbo turned to leave the cave, knowing full well that he was to blame for the hobbit’s desertion of the company, but enraged that Bilbo would give up on him so easily.

They had been getting along so well.  After spending that night in the elven library, using Bilbo’s soft curls as a pillow, Thorin knew that there was something special between him and the sassy little halfling.  Their relationship grew during their time in Rivendell, but as soon as he announced that they were leaving the elves, Bilbo’s face dropped.

_Of course_ , sneered Thorin to himself, _leave it to elves to ruin everything._

_Blasted tree-huggers._

_They aren’t even majestic._

When the storm giants waged their thunder battle, and Bilbo clung to the ledge of the slippery, rain-drenched mountain for dear life, Thorin felt his heart jump to his throat.  He jumped down to grab the Halfling without thinking, almost falling to his own death in the process.

And that terrified him.

Not the fear of falling, no.  What terrified Thorin Oakenshield, rightful King Under the Mountain, was the fact that he had lost control. He acted without weighing the consequences, without considering the risks; and that was something he had never before done.

Thorin was a simple dwarf.  He liked his pipeweed cheap, his mead strong, and his emotions bottled up, stored deep within the depths of his brooding mind. However, with Bilbo, Thorin found he had no control over his feelings.  

And that just wouldn’t do. 

If he had been any other dwarf, in any other position, he would have embraced these new feelings; but he was not.  He was a king without a kingdom, a ruler of dwarfs ripped from their homes and forced to start their lives anew, some who had lost not only their possessions, but their loved ones.

He needed to have his head on his shoulders.

And Bilbo, with those deep hazel eyes and curly, auburn hair, made that impossible.

And that was why he snapped at Bilbo. He was afraid.

And it made him feel very unmajestic.

Thorin took a step towards Bilbo as the hobbit stepped towards the opening of the cave, oblivious to the dwarf-king behind his back, who was just about to open his mouth to apologize, to ask the hobbit to stay.  Majestic or not, Thorin wasn’t sure he could go on if anything happened to Bilbo, and with the storm waging outside, he was not about to let the hobbit take such a risk just to get away from him.

Of course, before Bilbo could make it to the entrance, and before the words left Thorin’s mouth, there was the sound of gears churning, and the floor disappeared beneath them.

It figures the first time Thorin tried to express himself, the floor would open up and swallow him.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

Goblins clamored around the company, appearing from every little crook and crevice in the dark lair, grabbing the dwarfs and forcing them to walk forward, their weapons and possessions torn from their hands by the greedy beasts.

Yet somehow, no one noticed Bilbo.

In fact, a couple of the goblins stepped right over him. Or on him.

Which he found very rude indeed.

As the last of the goblins pushed the dwarfs towards the goblin king, Bilbo was left all alone, watching after them.

And as happy as he was not to be in the shoes of the dwarfs, he was still a little offended by the snub.

He wasn’t that short.

Really.

His offence was short lived, however, as one of the goblins did take notice of him, forcing him to draw his sword and fight the beast off.  Of course, fighting to Bilbo meant holding his sword out straight in front of him and running for dear life.

He found himself wishing that Thorin had shown him how to use the sword, as he had promised to do back by the troll cave.

Just then, the goblin lurched towards Bilbo, forcing the hobbit over the side of the ledge.  Bilbo hit a soft spot of fungus, luckily. The goblin was not as lucky, landing on a hard rock, effectively knocking himself out.

Then, out of the darkness came a creature, unlike anything Bilbo had ever seen before.  Huge blue eyes were set deep in a pale, drawn face.

And if Bilbo had thought Thorin had a personality disorder, he was about to learn a big lesson.

//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\//\\\

“Why did you come back?” Thorin demanded, his eyes fierce and his glare steady, though his true emotions were fighting hard to come out.

"I know you doubt me. I know you always have. And I do think of Bag End. That's where I belong, that's home. And you don't have a home, it was taken from you. But I will help you get it back if I can,” Bilbo said, meeting the dwarf king’s gaze straight on.

If Thorin’s lip quivered slightly, and his stone heart trembled, well, he paid no attention to it.

And before he could respond, he heard a warg howling a short distance away.

This was just not his day.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY HEART IS STONE AND STILL IT TREEEEMMMMBBBBLLLLES
> 
> Sorry. One of my other fandoms :)

**Author's Note:**

> THORIN IS THE EMBODIMENT OF THE WORD MAJESTY


End file.
